What A Wicked Game You Play
by chikinita09
Summary: Ginny lay in her bed and couldn't help but think of Hermione. The more she tried to give up thinking of her, the harder she tried to pluck her out of her heart, the more Hermione stayed there. Hermione/Ginny, Hermione/Astoria Era: Hogswarts
1. Prologue

**(A/N: I've been working on this story for months now, and thought I should finally post the prologue. This fic has been inspired by the short lyric below, but it's not a song-fiction, and honestly, I never listened to the song. hehe)**

**PAIRING: Focuses on Hermione/Ginny's friendship-love relationship; Hermione/Astoria; Ron/Lavender; Harry/Ginny; Ginny/several others.**

**WARNINGS: Might be sugary, fluff, and mushy. It's about friendship-love-romance between Hermione and Ginny. DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ. :p  
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**I took the liberty and made Astoria Greengrass a year older than she is in canon. She's 15 years old in Hermione's sixth year.  
**

**DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter characters and the Wizarding World. **

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_What a wicked game you play  
To make me feel this way  
What a wicked thing to do  
To let me dream of you  
What a wicked thing to say  
You never felt this way  
_

_By Chris Isaak_

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**What A Wicked Game You Play**

by chikinita09

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PROLOGUE

Some people just say things, or just one sentence, without realizing its damage.

It amazes me how easily I let myself sucked in when it comes to her. She does it every time to me. I cannot help it; she smiles, I crumble… She makes my heart ache every time she leaves me, every time she says a word to wound me. But every time she comes near me, my heart skips beats. Every time she looks my way, I cannot help but melt. And when she kisses me, my heart stops.

I used to have these butterflies in my stomach whenever she was with me. But now, when I look at her, the first thing I see is the corpse of this once beautiful butterfly, now being carried away by what may seem like an army of ants. When she hurts me, another butterfly dies inside of me until I feel nothing but this emptiness.

We fight a lot, usually she starts them—the bitching, the arguments, the yelling. She's annoying me, she's confusing me; she's disappointing me. One moment I don't want to see her again, the next, I jump at the chance to be with her and I'm ready to give her the moon. I'm the one who compensates for our fights, the one, who cracks first, who makes amends, who weeps in front of her.

Ironically, we're not even together. Together as a couple, that is.

There've never been an Us and never been a We. But we act and love and hate each other like two people in love do. It's complicated; she doesn't know that she loves me. I don't know if I love her. She doesn't know if she wants me; I don't know if I want her. But isn't it true that actions speak louder than words?

Does she ever miss me in my absence, though, I wonder? Do her feelings feel dull and ordinary when I am not around? Or does her heart quicken when she sees me? So what if it does? But then again, what if it doesn't? It would never change anything between us, for we have promised to each other to be friends—forever. Well, I used to have a very positive stand on "forever" then – until I came to realize that good things, by nature, would have to come to an end in order to give way to the better ones.

When it comes to her, everything is either extremely hurtful, or ardently beautiful.

She's playing with me.

It all began with a simple conversation in the Gryffindor common room three months ago. I can't quite recall the order of this debacle, or what came first—the bet, the argument, the scathing remarks or my harboured feelings that seemed to have broken out then. It doesn't matter now. All I know is that she made it worse.

I knew they were talking about me, larking around, the usual stuff that friends do when one is not around. Upon climbing through the portrait hole, I heard them mention my name and heard them snigger. This, eventually, caught my attention.

I heard her saying, "Ew, no, seriously? Not her. She'd be the last girl on this planet I'd ever consider kissing." She pulled a face. "And even then I need a good shot of firewhiskey."

There were times before this, when I heard her say similar remarks to others. "Goodness, no. How can you think she's my girlfriend? Do I look like I'm into to girls?"

Or, "Despite our closeness, I've never thought in a romantic way about her. She's just a friend, all right? Only when Hell freezes over I'd consider dating her, or if she were the last human being on earth and I needed company. If you know what I mean?"

That evening three months ago, however, when I saw her sitting amongst our friends and she'd again pulled off this show, and made me feel rejected and humiliated than ever, I said to myself that I've had enough.

She would never kiss me she said. Fancy that!

The remarkable thing was that she didn't bother mentioning that she had already kissed me, once. Moreover, of course, she wasn't inebriated with firewhiskey when she had locked her lips with mine. With other words, she knew what she did! She didn't seem to be repulsed either. In fact, she was smiling then. She was smiling against my lips when she drew me closer to her. She was smiling even then when we pulled apart and looked at me.

I was taken aback by her action. For the first time I was looking at her, really looking at her as if I have never seen her before. Her eyelashes were fuller and longer in close-up, and her upper lip slightly protruded the thinner one on the bottom, coated mildly with lip-gloss. A very sensual mouth, I thought.

Why had she been smiling, I wonder? And then, completely deny it—deny everything the next moment? Pretend she only dreamt it. I figured that she might have been afraid—afraid of her own passion. Who wouldn't be?

Right then and there, in the common room, amidst our friends, she was denying this incident of course, denying me. She scrunched up her nose,, shook her head, made a vomiting gesture as if to underline her repulsion towards me. How immature, I thought. She did this charade in front of Harry, Ron, and the other girls she was barely friends with.

The instant she caught my eye, her face registered surprise, shame, embarrassment, and defiance, all in less than a fraction of a second, all unnoticeable to everyone but me. She dropped her head to her lap, whilst clutching with both hands her skirt as though her hands were strangling my throat, her cheek a light shade of crimson. There was something else in her eyes—hatred? Resentment? Or just guilt for having to hurt me once again like this? As if she can't help it. As if she needed to do this. But why?

This must explain why she didn't run after me when I excused myself to leave the common room and head upstairs to the dormitories. She didn't' apologise. She did not talk to me or explain why she had been so cruel. She had expected me to forget, to not take it seriously, to not make a big deal out of it, as usual. I tried playing it off, but it was getting to me.

We fought again. And I'm tired of it.

I am used to the fact that she never made things easy, and as time passed, by turns, she was defensive, often angry, withdrawn, and even nasty. Everything but contrite. Anything but sorry.

But to her defence, I'm not altogether blameless, that I've to admit. I am not a saint, but I sure did not deserve the way she treated me. If she had been afraid, so was I.

I've been pondering on how it would be like if I get back at her, pay it back, so just to get even. Show her how silly she acts sometimes. But I'm not one for revenge. Not really.

Now I got to a point where I'm tired of trying. I didn't give up on her, on our friendship, on all the wonderful and at the same time hurtful years that I've shared with her. I just realised that I'm better off without the drama in my life. I want to evolve, and move on, find someone else who cares, someone who's not scared of their feelings.

Someone who's not scared of being with me.

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_**(A/N: In case you missed it in my first Author's Note, I made Astoria a year older than she is in canon. You'll find out why in later chapters.  
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**Please leave a review/comment if you liked ****it. I don't take negative feedback personally, so feel free to tell me honestly what you think so far. I need inspiration.)** ^_^_  
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	2. Chapter 1: Rumours

**(A/N:**** DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns the Potterverse and all its characters.**

**In case you missed it in the prologue, Astoria Greengrass is a year older than in canon. That's essential for later chapters.**

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**CHAPTER ONE: Rumours**

"Well, Hermione's dating a girl now."

"What, like a girlfriend?"

Ginny watched her brother as he slumped on the squashy armchair beside the fireplace. Running his hand through his tousled hair and removing some imaginary lint from his pullover, Ginny thought how crestfallen he seemed. Bottom lip pushed forward to a pout and eyebrows furrowed together, he exhaled a long-suffering sigh.

He squinted at Ginny, who was lying on the couch, her Pygmy Puff, Arnold, on her chest, as she tied a white bow at his long tail.

"Hermione must've told you 'bout her girlfriend," Ron ventured, lifting the right corner of his lips slightly. "Ain't you her thickest buddy after all?"

He was trying to keep it cool, but his expression was strained from hiding his displeasure, for Ginny had thought that he was finally going to ask Hermione out and get rid off Lavender. He had his hands folded on his chest; Ginny noticed how heavily he was breathing.

"No, she has not. I didn't know," Ginny said, giving her brain time to register the new information. "But…how'd you know she is going out with a girl?" she asked reluctantly, capturing Arnold with a reflexive grasp before he was able to escape. "I mean, how can you be so sure they're together? Were they kissing or something? Or…did she tell you?"

Ron groaned to his chest, "Well, not me at least, I didn't see anything."

Staring at the hearth, he made a short pause, seeming to be searching for the right words to convey his thoughts. He sighed again as if he was having difficulties thinking about what to say and whether to believe what he had just found out about Hermione.

He grunted, "Lavender—apparently she'd seen 'em snogging and stuff." He shook his head in incomprehension. "Couldn't believe it myself."

"By the Holy Stars! Lavender?" Ginny pulled a face, exclaiming in utter disbelief, "Lavender's a damn gossip; you can't seriously eat the crap she feeds to you."

"I asked Hermione, all right? And she didn't deny it," he said flatly, not meeting Ginny's gaze. After a moment, he smiled distantly at something he seemed to be remembering. "I had never thought that she actually fancies girls. Thought it was just me—me not understanding her and all the girl things she wanted me to understand, which really has pissed me off sometimes."

"Girl things," Ginny snorted. "You make it sound as though she's from another planet, speaking an alien language. She worshipped the ground you walked on, and you never noticed?" she said, cringing as she realised that it was supposed to be a secret. She looked at Arnold, brushing his chin with her index finger.

"Oh? So she did really fancy me? Thought Seamus was just teasing me 'bout that," Ron said in genuine surprise, then mumbled something incoherent under his breath. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

With a shrug, Ginny conceded, "I dunno if she still secretly does. She's not confiding in me that much lately, but it was rather obvious…before."

She didn't feel like telling her brother that Hermione had been snubbing her for weeks, now months, for a reason unbeknownst to her. Ron might have had already noticed that Ginny and Hermione hadn't been talking to each other lately; but he'd only dismissed it as a frivolous girl drama, which Ginny and Hermione often had.

Ginny had, aside Hermione, Luna and Neville as her friends. She also remained good friends with her ex-boyfriends, Dean, and Michael, but especially with Harry. The other boys she had barely dated couldn't really be designated as 'ex', thus, she didn't remain friends with them. Those were meaningless affairs, which comprised of snogging in between classes in the hallways. She had friends from her Quidditch team, classmates she got along well. But quite unlike all of her friendships with the people in her life couldn't hold a candle to Hermione Granger.

"Who's your best friend: Harry, Ron, or I?" Ginny had asked her once. It was back then when Ginny had accompanied Hermione attending to her prefect duties. They sat on the lower stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower; the corridors just dimly lit.

Hermione, sitting in front of Ginny, whilst Ginny hugging her from behind to keep her warm, giggled softly and turned her head. "What?" As she turned and the torchlight reflected on her face, she gave Ginny a bizarre look, saying, "All of you, I guess."

"But who's your _bestest_ best friend?"

"Why, are the three of you competing for that position?" Hermione humoured.

"Just asking," Ginny had said, quietly speaking to her ear. "If you were to save just one of us from an army of Death Eaters, who would you try to rescue?" Then, as she tugged at Hermione's scarf, smirking, she added teasingly, "Answer me or I'll bite your ear!"

Hermione laughed, swatting her hand away. "I don't know. Is this seriously a matter of life or death?"

"All right, don't tell me I didn't warn you," Ginny had said, attacking Hermione's earlobe with tender bites. She gnawed Hermione's earlobe between her teeth, purring and roaring like a little monster as she gave the soft flesh a playful tug.

Hermione, squealing, laughing, and shuddering, all at the same time, had tried pushing Ginny's face away. "All right, all right," she giggled in surrender as her laughter subsided, "_you_ are! You are my best friend, Ginny!"

"There," Ginny had said with a smirk, "was that so hard?"

Most often, they would talk about blokes; what they liked or disliked about them and why boys were so bloody complicated. They'd made speculations in regards to the boys' minds, and whether they might be functioning differently. Whether sex is all that was on their mind, or why they keep their brooms spotless but live like pigs at home. Or why they can enthusiastically sleep with a woman they know they would never see again.

One time Hermione sat alone in the library, a letter clutched in her hand. She had looked up briefly when Ginny joined her table, her eyes blurred with unshed tears.

"He's married now," Hermione had mumbled to herself, sniffing. On the table, Ginny read the sender's handwriting—the letter was from Viktor Krum. Then she watched Hermione crumple the letter up to a ball and toss it aside, her lips then changed to a sudden, wretched smile.

Ginny had never asked Hermione if she liked Viktor Krum. She'd only assumed that she did, or maybe had been infatuated, seeing how Hermione's cheeks grew rosy or her eyes sparkled whenever she received a new Owl from him. What else could it be? You would not blush over a friend's letter that didn't touch your heart, would you?

Seeing Hermione in such a miserable state, Ginny couldn't help but lean over and take Hermione's shaking hand in her hands, then she kissed her palm, gently, prolonging the moment. That's how close they were—affections shown that way were natural between them. Hermione's hand was soft and warm against her lips as she smiled against it.

She felt Hermione slightly shiver.

"There are other hot Quidditch players on the pitch," she had told Hermione in a gentle voice, eliciting a smile from her broken-hearted friend.

_Hermione's dating a girl now_.

How could she have kept something so vital from Ginny, who was her closest friend, her main confidante, her best friend? Granted, Hermione was upset at Ginny due to an argument—and the many others before that—but she could have at least mentioned that she had a girlfriend.

Hermione had sought some time of solitude after their fights. She needed space, she'd said, and time to think…about their friendship.

"Who's it?" she asked her brother now, who had dozed off on his chair.

"What?" Ron said croakily, looking startled. He had his hands folded behind his head to support his neck, then rubbed his eyes, and gave a loud yawn.

"Hermione. Who's her girlfriend?"

"Oh, that girl from Slytherin, Green—something," Ron said, shrugging, feigning indifference. "Dunno, I forgot. She'd dated Malfoy before I think, according to Lavender. This's why I dunno how she ended up dating Hermione. I reckon Malfoy made her gay."

"Greengrass? Daphne Greengrass?" Ginny guessed, furrowing her brows. "Or Astoria?"

"Yeah, the latter. She's the youngest, isn't she? The prettiest of the two," Ron enthused, smiling distantly.

He massaged his temples, and then said uneasily, "It's just a phase, isn't it? Reckon Hermione only wants to experience the best of both worlds. Girls experiment a lot, after all," he said with a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Suddenly he looked weary, and he dropped his gaze.

He stretched his arms over his head, flexing his tense muscles. "Have you seen Harry?" Lifting himself from the couch, he walked towards the boys dormitories. "Gonna have to copy the damn essay, or I'll be screwed in Potions tomorrow. Gonna hit the sack. Wake me if supper is ready, will you?"

_Hermione has a girlfriend,_ Ginny thought, disregarding her brother, _What the hell?_

_I can do this. I can do this._

"Granger, you sure this is what you want? You might not be ready for it."

_I can do this._

"Yes. I am!" She took a deep breath. "I swear, if you ask me again I might just change my mind," she wailed, then added in a kinder voice, beseeching, "please. I thought you wanted to do this with me."

"All right."

A soft giggle came from the pale blonde girl behind Hermione as she swung her hair over her shoulder and placed both hands on either side of Hermione's waist, her body pressed against Hermione's back.

"Merlin, relax! You're so tense."

"Oh God, hold me tighter than _that_," Hermione cried, closing her eyes.

She felt as though her head was weightless, her temples beginning to throb, and they had not even started yet. She'd mentally prepared for this over the course of two weeks, yet she still didn't feel entirely confident whether she could go through with this or not. Backing out now was just not an option for her—not for Hermione Granger. After all, she _was_ prepared, she _was_ ready, and it was now or never.

_I can do this!_

"This is safe, isn't it? And you know what you're doing, don't you?" she asked again.

Astoria, wrapping one slender arm around Hermione's belly, the other brushing Hermione's hair from her neck, let out a joyous laughter. "Why, Granger? You don't trust a Slytherin?" she asked teasingly, seductively, against Hermione's neck.

Soon, once Astoria's other arm was wrapped around her, and before Hermione could respond or take a breath or repeat her mantra, Astoria had pushed them off the ground and they were flying.

It was as though Hermione's internal organs were pushed downward, her lungs constricted, the sudden rush of adrenaline in her blood burnt her guts, and she was screaming. With her eyes still pressed shut, she grasped the broom handle tighter, holding onto it like a lifeline.

"Bloody Merlin, Granger! Stop screaming!" Astoria shouted over Hermione's voice, but instead of slowing down the speed, the broom flew higher, faster, and began to vibrate under her grip. The vibration made Hermione sicker.

"Lean back. You're the one speeding up. Jeez, stop screaming!"

"Oh God, oh God, we're going to fall!" Hermione screeched hysterically, panicking, close to a nervous breakdown. No, she was not going to faint, because if she fainted she wouldn't know if she'd come alive of this. And she was, most certainly, almost absolutely, not going to die like this. Not from falling! Not from crashing on the ground and breaking her skull and all bones in her body. "Oh God, no! NO!" she cried, tears in her eyes, imagining this scenario.

_Breathe, damnit, breathe!_

She felt Astoria pulling her back, placing a hand on Hermione's fingers to ease her grip off the handle, and felt her voice and warm breath at her ear. "I won't let you fall," she assured her, gently, confidently. "I won't let you fall, Granger," she repeated, "Trust me."

Surprisingly, Hermione let go a little and leaned back slightly. The broom slowed down its speed.

"See," Astoria said in triumph. Then, Hermione felt Astoria nuzzling her ear, and she shivered again, only this time not due to her fear of falling. Hermione knew Astoria was doing this to distract her, which, shockingly, worked well. "Granger, will you relax a little? I'm right here. You won't fall," she said over and over again, until Hermione relaxed in the other girl's arms. She was trying hard to control her shaking body.

Hermione shifted to adjust her position, causing the broom to turn in a sudden movement when, once again, Hermione bent forward and the next moment they headed with immense speed towards the ground. The cold air whipped across her face, the stale adrenaline in her veins made her head woozy, freezing her body. Hermione let out another scream.

"Pull the shaft a little," Astoria instructed with practiced patience. Then, "Damn, pull it up, Granger!" Her voice more urgent now when Hermione failed to obey, too frozen to move a muscle. Astoria tightened her grip around her, speaking to her ear again, "You can do it. Yes, just that. Easy, Granger. Easy."

Taking quickly a deep breath, Hermione did as she was told, pulling tenderly on the shaft, until it slid with ease ever so slightly over the ground. The grass brushed against her shoes, that, with a little more pull, it changed its direction towards the air again. Hermione released her breath in relief, her shoulders relaxing as she tried straightening her body. The broom was now flying smoothly.

"You're a natural," Astoria sniggered, with pride in her voice, pulling slightly back. "Turn towards the lake," she instructed calmly, resting her chin on Hermione's right shoulder. "Steer it just like that, it's very easy. And, for Pete's sake, I said, relax. You're friggin' tight."

And, again, Hermione obliged, unable to say a word, too scared that if she as much as move a muscle even if that movement was by opening her mouth, she'd lose control over the broom again. With reluctance, she eased her grip off the broom, steering the broom towards the lake just to glide a few inches along its surface. At least falling here wouldn't be too hurtful than on hard concrete or on hard rocks, Hermione thought.

Astoria pushed the shaft down, brushing Hermione's hands in the process, so that they glided over the water. With her feet outstretched, Astoria splashed the water to produce a water fountain, and laughed in delight, like a carefree child.

"See, how easy it is?" she told Hermione.

They flew for almost half an hour. They flew towards the castle, so close that they nearly crashed against the Gryffindor Tower if Astoria hadn't pulled on the shaft in the last second, then back towards the Quidditch pitch, the forbidden forest, over the school ground. Hermione sighted Hagrid's massive build emerging from his hut, which looked just like a tiny orb on the green landscape; his giant boarhound, Fang, running after him.

She tilted her head back to feel the late afternoon sun against her face. The sky was an endless blue and with a meadow of clouds. Thankfully, it wasn't raining.

_So this is how the world looked like from above_, Hermione wondered in awe, finally understanding why everybody loved to fly. It was the feeling of freedom. It was the feeling of embracing the world with outstretched arms and being kissed by the sun. There were no limits in the sky.

And it was Astoria, who showed this all to her.

They landed on the pitch smoothly afterwards, halting when Astoria reached her legs for the ground.

"How'd you like it?" she asked Hermione excitedly, brushing her fingers through her dishevelled hair to straighten them.

"It was…terrific," Hermione admitted breathlessly, surprised that she meant it. She pressed her hands together as they were still trembling. "And thank you for teaching me this." She smiled.

Astoria waved a hand dismissively and scoffed. "Pfft, no problem! Next time I'll show you how to fly like a Pro, with tricks and stuff, like how to surf on a broom but still managing to keep the balance," she offered with a grin, flashing her straight, white teeth. "Before I teach you how to play Quidditch."

Hermione felt her face blanch and her stomach tighten at the mere thought of standing on a broom. "No, thank you," she choked. She busied her hands by fumbling in her robe pocket for a handkerchief, so that Astoria wouldn't notice her nervousness. Thinking that she hardly managed to sit calmly and still on a broom without getting hysterical and bursting out in sweat, let alone stand on it; not even Voldemort with an _Imperius Curse_ could make her.

She thought of Ginny, and how _she_ would have taught her all this, flying high, higher. She would have reassured that Hermione was comfortable with the height, the speed, the flow of wind. She would have started it slowly, unlike Astoria, who almost startled the hell out of her.

"All right, let's go back. I still have to do some homework and hope to get it done before supper," Astoria said; she now had her hair pulled up to a ponytail as a few strands of hair dangled at her ears.

Her collar was untidy, tie askew, the hem of her blouse tucked out of her uniform skirt. Her overall appearance rather lacked neatness, but her beautiful face and natural blush made up for it all. In one hand, she held the broom, the other held out for Hermione, she said, "You coming?"

Hermione frowned at Astoria's hand as if expecting she'd be dragged back on the broom and sent off flying again. She crossed her arms, taking a wary step backward. Astoria, though, seemed to have mistaken Hermione's reluctance for mistrust in her, withdrew her hand and sighed.

"All right," Astoria said after a moment, tilting her head to the side as though struggling to understand Hermione. Then she stared towards the sky, her attention had been caught by something else. She lifted her hand to shade her eyes and her gaze grew fixed. "I—I have to go," she mumbled, swallowing hard and looking disgusted, whilst her eyes following whatever she was staring at at the sky.

Hermione looked towards the direction in which Astoria was staring. "You okay?" she asked uneasily. "Those are just the school owls, returning from their post delivery. Look, the snow-white one is Harry's," Hermione said kindly, smiling, "Are you expecting an Owl, or a Howler?"

Astoria didn't answer, her eyes still fixed at the flying birds that flew towards the Owlery Tower, as if expecting an air strike. Her face had paled a bit. When she wheeled around, she jogged back towards the castle.

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She put the napkin on her lap, folded it a few times, brushed the creases out of it, and then adjusted it so that it lay perfectly. The same procedure was repeated with the utensils on the table—the fork on the left, parallel to the knife; she readjusted the position of the spoon that lay on the right side of the plate.

She brushed a strand of brown, frizzy curls out of her face, tucked it behind her ear, and, again, ensuring it was sitting perfectly. Her hand reached for the glass of pumpkin juice on the left side of her plate, took a few small sips before placing it back on its exact original spot. Only then, she began to eat, one careful bite after the other, masticating the food with relish.

Had Hermione always been such a perfectionist before, Ginny wondered, shoving a piece of beef in her mouth. Or had she just never looked closely enough to notice? Maybe she'd copied this habit from her new girlfriend. Ginny groaned, rolling her eyes at her plate.

Harry nudged Hermione in the side, causing her to jump. Squealing in shock, Hermione threw him a fiery look and swatted his arm. Harry chuckled, rubbing the spot Hermione had hit with his hand. "What's the matter? You're as stiff as a poker."

"I feel a bit chilled. I think I caught a cold." Hermione sniffed, as if that explained her peculiar behaviour. She drew a cloth handkerchief from her pocket, turned her head from the table, and wiped her nose. "Every bone in my body is aching," she said in a nasal voice.

She grabbed Harry's hand and placed it on her forehead. "Do I feel hot?"

"Yeah, a bit," Harry said. "Must be the flu. Take a rest after your meal."

"Yes, thank you, Harry." Hermione, carefully shoving a forkful of beans in her mouth, caught Ginny's eyes. "What is it?" she asked snippily, raising a brow.

Ginny disregarded her with a shake of her head, turning away. She glanced over her shoulder towards the Slytherin table, her eyes in search for a particular person. Why was this whole issue so bloody intriguing to her? Why did it matter whether Hermione was seeing another girl or not? It wouldn't make her less a friend just because she preferred girls now.

She caught sight of the younger Greengrass, chit-chatting with her friends. Astoria, by contrast, had absolutely no table manners and ate like a pig, so to speak. Just like Ron. She talked with her mouth full, elbows on the table, and with her fork, she waved for her friend's attention. And just like Hermione, she caught Ginny's eyes as if she had sensed that she was being observed. She took a big gulp from her glass, licked her lips dry, and smiled sweetly.

When Ginny turned back round to look at Hermione, who was smiling shyly in the direction where Astoria was seated, only then did Ginny realise that the smile wasn't meant for her. Thank Merlin!

_So the bloody rumours are true!_

"Pass me the sauce, Ginny," she heard her brother mumble, snapping her from her thoughts. He sat across from Ginny, hand outstretched. "The sauce," he repeated, waggling his fingers when Ginny didn't move.

"_Please,_ pass me the sauce," Hermione corrected, looking the other way.

"Did she just say something?" Ron asked Harry, his mouth full, shifting his gaze from Hermione and back to Harry.

The table was crowded with Gryffindors, their chatter a rumble. Ron looked around as if uncertain who'd spoken and corrected him. Surely, he only meant to tease Hermione. He took another bite of his pork-sausage, his cheeks filled with food like a hamster's. Sauce was dripping off the tip of the sausage, and Ron licked its end and bit it off, savouring.

"Goodness, Ronald, I'm trying to eat," Hermione said with a grimace on her face.

"What?" Ron asked. Harry bent his head to hide his chuckle.

Ginny passed the bowl of brown sauce to her brother, snorting in amusement and disbelief over her new discovery in regards to Hermione's beloved sweetheart, and this snorting most likely gave the impression that she was laughing at _their_ childish bickering.

Still, she couldn't deny the fact that she was hurt, that she felt dismantled inside.

Hurt—because Hermione didn't see fit to tell her about her new darling. Girl or boy, that wasn't the issue. Dismantled—because Hermione _was_ dating someone else.

Ron threw a green pea at Ginny, hitting her forehead. "What's so funny?" he grunted.

"Nothing," Ginny snapped, throwing a pea back at him. It hit him right in the face. "You pig! Stop throwing food!"

Hermione straightened her body and coughed in her handkerchief. "You seemed to be not quite yourself today, Ginny," she pointed out, as if _she_ had been acting her usual self lately.

"You think so?" Ginny retorted mockingly.

"Yes," said Hermione.

Harry, nudging Ron's side, said in a lowered voice, "They're gonna jump down each other's throats again. Do something!"

Ron shrugged, as though he was used to it. "It's a female thing, mate," he said. "That's their nature."

"Nothing's wrong with _me_, at least," Ginny said accusingly.

Hermione snorted, and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. She must have caught the edgy tone in Ginny's voice. "Oh Christ! Don't you start on me, too, Ginny!" With her handkerchief, she wiped at her nose again, then tucked it back in her pocket. She chafed at her throat, then took her glass and drank from it. All the time her attentive eyes never wavered from Ginny's.

Shaking her head, Hermione pushed her shoulders back, both hands tensing around her fork and knife. She shook her head again as if refusing a notion that must have just occurred to her, then looked accusingly at Ron for an extra long second, then back at her plate. Ron, of course, didn't notice Hermione's scrutinising gaze. He nibbled on his spare ribs and licked his fingers clean.

Ginny could literally see Hermione's brain working and hear the click being triggered. _I know about your secret,_ Ginny's eyes said, _I know about you and Greengrass, and you didn't even tell me!_ Then Hermione's cheeks grew scarlet. She dropped her knife, causing a clattering sound at the table. Nearby students turned around curiously, their look saying, _Can't you ever sit still?_

"What did he tell you?" Hermione hissed through clenched teeth, looking incredulously at Ginny. "Whatever he's told you, it's, well...Astoria and I were only larking around last night, you know, when Lavender caught us off-guard, and Ron, did he…" she trailed off, threw another look at Ron. She had this guilty look on her face. "I was curious, and I wanted—"

"You were curious?" Ginny echoed, her mouth fell open. "You just wanted—what?"

_For the love of Merlin, when did you ever indulge your curiosity that way_, Ginny thought, bewildered. Her mind went wild, maybe she had jumped to conclusions at once, now misjudging Hermione's actions. However, Ginny thought now, _This is why she's requested a friendship break from me? It wasn't our fights that wearied her... She wanted something _new_!_

Ginny's breath came in short, ragged gasps. She felt her hands itch, as though they ached to shake Hermione until she came back to her senses, and came back to her and be friends again.

"You disgust me!" Ginny's voice was sharp, slashing at the air like razor.

The harshness of her voice hit Hermione with almost visible force, her shoulders collapsed instantly, as if she'd been struck by an Unforgivable. She threw the napkin from her lap on the table, and crossed her arms, holding herself together.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed, staggered.

Ginny felt shame for hurting Hermione; she had no damn right to criticise or pass judgment. Maybe she wasn't at all against the same-sex relationship _per se_, but that Hermione was going out with Astoria Greengrass. All this simply took Ginny by surprise.

"I knew it was a bad idea," Hermione said after a short silence, breaking into Ginny's thoughts, as if she had only been talking about the bad choice of outfit. "But Harry said I ought to give it a try. Right, Harry?"

"You knew about this?" Ginny shot at Harry. He cringed, slightly taken aback.

"I might've encouraged her, I guess," Harry said with a shrug, looking at Ron for help.

Ron, though, only shoved a forkful of whatever he was eating into his already full mouth. He was immersed in a conversation with Neville, Dean, and the Creevey brothers. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his school robe, laughing light-heartedly.

"I can't believe this! How can you all act as if it's not a big deal? Come off it, Hermione. You and that blonde floozie? She's been cruel to you, did you forget that?" Ginny cried; despite her previous resolve to accept things as they were, her bitterness, however, overwhelmed her.

Hermione gave a look as though saying, _'As if _you_ hadn't been cruel to me!'_

"When did you decide to switch teams, though?" Ginny asked snidely, seething. "Or have you always been into girls? When we used to rave about our crushes, your admiration for Viktor Krum, your secret fancy for my damn brother since your third year—was that just a farce?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide; her cheeks a deep crimson. Nearby students looked up curiously, watching.

"Would you keep your voice down, please?" Hermione hissed as she shrunk down a little on her seat.

Harry looked nonplussed. "Switched teams?" he asked, blinking. He turned to Hermione. "What does she mean, 'you're into girls'?"

"What's this crap 'bout Viktor Krum?" Ron interrupted, elbowing Harry.

Seamus was talking beside him to the other blokes about a duel between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, of which one of them had ended up in the hospital wing. It seemed by far of a more interesting topic as it caught Ron's attention back again, without waiting for Harry's answer.

"Ginny's being ridiculous," Hermione declared in a low voice, waving a hand dismissively to underline her statement. "Besides, Harry, that's not the point. You know the reason why I'm hanging out with Astoria."

"When the hell did you chummy up with 'dear Astoria' then?" Ginny spat the name out as if it were a curse word. "And why, if I may ask?"

Hermione threw a look at Harry to silence him. Harry gave Ginny a shrug, his look suggesting how sorry he was.

"Fine," Ginny retorted, her eyes stung with tears as she felt being deliberately excluded. "I don't care a fig anyway."

Blinking her tears away, Ginny glanced at her brother. Ron had always acted like a complete git when it came to Hermione being especially excited about a letter from Viktor. Now that her sole attention was devoted to a girl, he didn't seem to mind it anymore? He was over it. Accepted it, maybe.

And Harry, for Heaven's, he encouraged Hermione? He encouraged her to _date girls_, to come out, and be gay? He seemed to be a true friend then, a better friend, Ginny thought and felt guilty, because Harry accepted Hermione completely without judging her.

Ginny, feeling a rising sensation on the pit of her stomach, glared at Hermione. Hermione looked back, with that kind of look that could melt butter, as if beseeching Ginny for her understanding. That Ginny, as a friend, should be happy for.

"Well, how do you like it, though?" Ginny asked, clearing her throat. She tried another approach, tried composing herself. She grabbed her glass of gillywater and took a big gulp to swallow the dryness in her throat.

"Hmm, it's nice," Hermione said reluctantly, downplaying her true emotions, which her sparkling, bright eyes was revealing. She said, her voice low, as though divulging a dirty secret, "I'm slowly starting to enjoy it."

"Really?" Ginny said, encouraging her with a rather wretched smile to go on.

Hermione nodded. "It was a bit strange at first feeling the vibration between my thighs because I wasn't really used to it, and I was worried that I wouldn't make it right. But then she showed me how," she enthused, blushing. "I guess before she shows me some other tricks, like standing up whilst keeping adequate balance, I've got to try it on my knees first."

Hermione laughed enthusiastically, brushing a curl behind her ear, seeming to be oblivious to Ginny's growing discomfort. On the other hand, maybe that was exactly what she was intending, as though rubbing salt in the wound. She added in an afterthought, "I like it better though when we sit safely and she holds me from behind."

"By all of Hogwarts' ghosts, spare me the details! Hermione, she's only fourteen years old," Ginny stated numbly once she found her voice, banishing the troubling images from her mind of Astoria Greengrass holding Hermione in an unchaste, lascivious way _from behind_, of Hermione_ being on her knees_, with a determined shake of her head.

"A forth year," Ginny grumbled on, poking her meat with her fork.

"Actually, she's turned fifteen three months ago," Hermione corrected matter-of-factly, as if that made a difference. "And I don't care how old she is."

"You all right, Ginny?" Harry asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. "You look kinda ill, too."

"I'm fine," Ginny muttered, now cutting her meat infuriatingly.

Hermione peered through the heads of students across the Great Hall to steal a glimpse of her new sweetheart.

"Whatever," Hermione said, nonchalantly, "she knows the basics, she's great. She's terrific."

_This is just…sick. Sick. SICK_, Ginny thought with derision. She emptied her glass quickly before she could say more.

"As long as she knows how to excite you. Right?" Harry teased, sharing a knowing look with Hermione. Hermione giggled and pinched his arm.

_And he's just a bloody pervert! _Ginny frowned.

Staring up at the enchanted ceiling where the stars were sparkling and twinkling down at her, Ginny searched for the brightest one and made a wish, just like the many nights she had spent with Hermione outside by the lake, counting the stars.

_Please, this is not happening._


	3. Chapter 2: Karma

**A/N: Nothing much to say. Enjoy reading, and if you finish, please drop a line or two to let me know what you think of this chapter? :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the HP chicks in my story. Harry Potter and his universe belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: Karma **

Of the many things Ginny hated about Hermione's uncaring attitude now, the thing Ginny hated most was the way it gradually robbed her of everything she once took for granted: their mutual understanding, their companionship, their laughter, their enjoyable moments together, and almost absolutely, their closeness.

Before this, before Hermione's "stonewalling" attitude, they'd spent time mostly sitting by the lake, wondering what it would be like if they finally graduated from Hogwarts and shared a flat together in the heart of London.

Ginny had pictured how their flat would look like, and how wonderful it would be to decorate it together. She had imagined going out with Hermione, to those Muggle theatres, museums, maybe musicals, too, for Hermione had been dreaming of visiting them. She'd imagined spending the weekends with her, of visiting clubs and bars, and meet new wizards.

The thought of it had filled Ginny's heart with overwhelming emotions and rapturous pleasure.

Then, those unspeakable dreams would come where Ginny would be sharing a bed with her, of lying with her head on Hermione's chest, listening to the sound of her heartbeat. She dreamed of caressing her, of feeling her warm skin, of smelling her sweet scent. Listening how her heart quickened with each tender caress. Whispering in her ear. Making her blush.

On the outside they would have just been best friends, two girls hanging around, having fun, doing girly stuff together. But secretly…

When she found out that Hermione had started dating another girl, in an instant, all of Ginny's dreams and future fantasies seemed ridiculous, nothing but a huge negative feeling: _Cancelled!_ Because all these future fantasies Hermione could now have with this other girl, who was not scared to be more than just a simple friend, someone who was not scared to show Hermione her affection and love in front of other people. Someone who was not scared of being with her.

"She can be a growing pain in the arse," Ginny remembered her brother introducing Hermione to her in Ginny's first year, with the adoration in his voice a twelve-year-old boy holds for a girl, "but once you get to know her, you'll see she's, well, only _a small_ pain in the arse. But nice."

Soon enough, during every summer Hermione had spent at the Burrow with Ginny's family and Harry, Ginny and Hermione became friends, too. They had their fights, their moments apart, but those fights never lasted long enough to register in their minds.

When they first started dating blokes, especially Ginny, they still found the time to see each other regularly, have their girls' night every fortnight only to spend some quality time together, apart from the boys. She remembered too clearly that Hermione had been disapproving about the lame excuses Ginny had been making on breaking up with whoever she was dating.

"You dumped Michael Corner because he sulked over some silly Quidditch game?" Hermione had said, one eyebrow raised, during a private supper with Ginny at Hogsmeade, incredibility and astonishment flashing her face.

"Poor Dean, ditching him for being so overly gentlemanly isn't exactly a nice reason to call it off," Hermione had said, head lying on Ginny's stomach when the two girls lay by the lake, only a couple of weeks after her break-up with Michael.

She had been angrier, however, about the break-up with Harry. "How could you do that to him, calling it off because he _stared_ at his ex girlfriend?" Hermione had picked Ginny up after her Quidditch practice, her face blank and mouth agape. "Boys stare, Ginny. That's natural. I thought you liked him," she had added in a smaller voice, as if her heart was breaking in compassion for Harry—her other best friend.

Ginny had responded with a shrug of indifference, back then not really understanding why Hermione was being so bend out of shape about.

Hermione had asked her once—"hypothetically", she had stressed—if Ginny could imagine being in a relationship with her, and what insubstantial flaw Ginny would find for breaking up with her.

Ginny had thought about that for a moment, never really considered the idea of dating Hermione like a girlfriend, loving her like a sweetheart, kissing her like a lover. If that were to happen, Ginny thought then, no matter what quirks Hermione had, she would never break up with her, for she'd love her with all her flaws and imperfections. What Ginny had said instead was that she would never date Hermione because she would never date girls as a matter of principle.

Hermione seemed fine with this answer, though still accused her of not handling relationships in an appropriate and adaptive manner.

Time passed and Ginny thought about her ex-boyfriends and how she could have broken up with them without as much as a blink of an eye. It was that, for some reason, when being with a bloke and feeling their stubble cheeks against her face, kissing their dry lips, stroking their chest, it was a frightful feeling.

It didn't feel right when only hours before that, it had been Hermione's soft lips on Ginny's cheek—lips that were not dry and rough, but soft like petals. It had been Hermione's body—a body that was warm and delicate—Ginny was pressed against to wish her good luck on her date.

It was in their last Summer break when Ginny and Hermione went to an excursion to Muggle London. Ginny had suggested a window-shopping tour, since both girls had no money. Well, Hermione, being the daughter of two dentists, and, hence, wealthy—so Harry once explained—did have money, but she preferred a simple life, and maybe only meant to be modest towards Ginny, who had not much.

That summer, they had both decided to buy a picture frame and chosen one with the enthusiasm and heartiness of two sweethearts choosing an engagement ring together.

They took a photo of themselves together, _Geminio_'ed it—so that each of them had a copy—whereby both wrote personal dedications to the other.

When they fought, they fought with passion: they'd kiss and quarrel; they'd kiss and make up—metaphorically. Ginny remembered too clearly one of their fights not so long ago.

"Ron? Why him of all people?" Ginny had exclaimed once when she first found out that Hermione had a secret crush on her brother, "He's an oaf, not even, I dunno, cute or something. You could as well fancy Percy!"

"You know perfectly well that I'm not devoted to personal appearance, Ginny. I like a boy, who is fun to be with, whose incongruity has the power to evoke laughter," Hermione enthused, blushing all over, "and, Ron, he makes me laugh a lot, despite our bickering."

"What?" Ginny grunted, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. "With other words, you like clowns! Merlin, then either Fred or George would be a better choice for you. Not Ron!"

"Ron's saved me from an ogre with Harry, and he's faced spiders for my sake," Hermione went on, "I'll never forget that."

"And Charlie could tame a raging dragon for you!"

Hermione's mouth fell open, then snapped shut. They both blushed when they realised how ridiculous their argument had become. "What's this really all about, Ginny? Are you just trying to pick a fight with me? Or seriously trying to hook me up with one of your brothers that isn't Ron?" Hermione spat, glaring at Ginny, "I don't see why it can't be Ron. He's always been there for me."

_So was I_, Ginny thought sadly, feeling tears pricking her eyes. "Then go to your sodding Ron! I don't give a flying rat's fart about it anymore!"

After two days of avoiding each other, Hermione had come to Ginny and apologised for making her angry.

Ginny closed her eyes, blinking her tears away. Then she remembered the rumours, about her and Hermione.

The rumours had meant nothing at first, though. Still Ginny dated blokes, still Hermione fancied Ron, secretly, so it seemed. And so both girls were ignorant as to how they must seem to others, as long as their minds were preoccupied with boys, they weren't attracted to each other—they weren't…homosexual. It was a queer way to believe that, to think that their feelings for each other were still platonic. Ginny had been foolish to believe that Hermione believed the same.

Hermione, the smart one, had only feigned ignorance, had been all along in denial, to keep her feelings at bay. Now she unleashed them—all for another girl.

Ginny could do nothing after all, could say nothing to the world that Hermione was _hers_. What did Ginny have, to keep Hermione faithful? Nothing.

Ginny remembered one night—Merlin, it seemed to be part of another lifetime—when she and Hermione hang out by the Astronomy Tower. With her back against the railing, Hermione stared at the tower of Hogwarts, the sliver of moon shining on her face, making it illuminate like an angel's.

"Isn't this perfect?" she'd asked dreamily, then closed her eyes. "The silence, the atmosphere, the peacefulness. For once we're not fighting." She laughed at that, probably, Ginny thought, she remembered their earlier argument in the library; whether it was all right if a bloke kissed a girl on their first date.

Another fight. Followed by hurtful name-calling. Again. Again, tears flowed.

"If I had a book right now, it'd be more than just perfect. I shall summon a book from my trunk if we were to stay longer. What do you think? Ginny?"

There was a short silence before Ginny murmured, then sighed. When she looked at Hermione, her voice felt heavy in her throat. "I hate fighting with you," Ginny had said, not meeting her gaze.

Ginny had never been good at baring her soul and admitting her weaknesses without feeling awkward. If growing up in a household full of older brothers had taught her one thing, then it was being tough. She and Hermione had already reconciled, but Ginny still felt miserable. So she conceded in one breath, "Sometimes I say things when I'm angry, just to freak you out, but I don't mean them, you know."

Hermione stared at her from the side. "You needn't be sorry for that, Ginny. I suppose I was out of line, too, and shall be apologising to you. So…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so personal, you know."

"True friends insult each other, isn't that right?" Ginny chuckled softly.

They laughed together.

"Let's fight less and just be friends," Ginny offered. "This may sound mushy, but it will hurt me to the core of my person, my soul, and everything I stand for, if I ever lose you, Hermione." Ginny gripped the railing tightly, feeling Hermione's gaze on her. "That was rather sentimental, huh? Sorry. I—I've just…always wanted to say that."

"I thought it rather very heartfelt," Hermione replied, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She had placed a hand on Ginny's, while she added, "No childish fights anymore, then?"

"Sure. Pinky swear," Ginny sniggered, as she entwined her pinky finger with Hermione's, sealing their promise.

It was a very sweet gesture, Ginny thought, how they used to seal their promises that way, like little school girls do. There was nothing silly, or mushy enough when you're best friends. That's the wonderful thing when you're young and still teenagers; when you're naïve and blinded by your feelings. When you're girls.

Ginny had wanted to hold on to that moment, siphon this memory from her mind, to review it someday together with Hermione. Now the memory felt dissolved. Nothing was the same anymore as it used to be.

Ginny thought now of the day three months ago when they had been fighting over trivial things—_again_—and that it was Hermione who did not adhere to their promise.

They sat at their favourite booth in the Hog's Head Inn on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Hermione had seemed slouchy as ever, holding the bridge of her nose with two fingers, trying to compose herself.

"This is not working out," she had said, when they both calmed down. "We mustn't always keep so close, must we? Because I can't do this anymore; it's wearing me off." She took a deep breath, not looking at Ginny. "Two or three days, I don't know, just to spend some time apart."

It sounded just like one of the lame phrases Ginny used on all the blokes she had ditched before, and now it felt awful being on the receiving end of it. This must be what people referred to as 'karma'.

"Whatever," Ginny had mumbled and looked the other way.

Hermione, groaning in frustration, shook her head and left.

Of "two or three days" became a week, Hermione still avoided her. A week soon turned to two weeks, then extended to a month. Then another. They would talk casually with each other now and then, but there was no warmth in Hermione's voice anymore, only her indifference. She never stayed longer than a minute to listen or to talk. She would always excuse herself that she had something else to do. Something _better_.

The hours and days seemed to drag on, and not even Ginny's other friends or Quidditch could distract her. She would awaken in the middle of the night and think of how she could make it up to Hermione, to have her back again, and be a better friend to her. She began missing her until her head hurt, but still felt too proud to be the first to crack. After all, Hermione was the one who had asked for "some time apart"; she should be the one to come back when she was ready.

Ginny then began _facilitating_ her blank time with blokes. She had flirted with them, gone out with them, snogged them, except this time, in front of Hermione. Hermione didn't seem to care. And when Ginny had had enough, and approached Hermione at last, Hermione seemed changed.

Now, however, whenever she would ask Hermione if how long she had planned _this_ to go on, and what at last had pissed her off, Hermione would look at her with so much scorn and disdain in her eyes, and ask in exasperation,

"You don't know? Use your brain, Ginny, or has it been _fucked_ out of your head already?"

She must be really upset, Ginny figured, for Hermione had never cursed like that before.

Not only a week later after Ginny's attempt of making peace with her, Hermione had a new girlfriend. Not a girlfriend like Ginny, but a girlfriend like a _girlfriend_.

A sound of girlish laughter startled Ginny from daydreaming; she turned towards the open dormitory door. Her three other dormmates were soundly asleep as Ginny caught sight of the clock on the wall and noticed the late hour. If she didn't feel that she urgently needed to pee, she wouldn't bother getting up. And since she was up already, she thought she might as well check where the noises came from.

After using the bathroom, Ginny stepped stealthily down the stairs towards the common room and stopped by the last step, to hide behind the wall. There was another muffled laughter. Laughter of two girls. One of them was Hermione's.

"Hmm," Hermione purred, sniggering sweetly. There was the sound of clothes rustle against fabric, the soft creak of coil spring when moving on the couch. "That's how you like it, don't you?"

The other girl sighed. "It feels so soft like velvet. Oh, yes, c'mere."

"That tickles," Hermione giggled.

Ginny's blood froze, and, once again, her imagination set off:

She imagined them lying on the couch, fondling, touching, stroking, groping over each other, whilst whispering sweet nothings in the other's ear. She imagined Hermione tilting her head to the side, exposing her delicate neck, for the other to kiss. She heard a sigh, a giggle, another murmur.

The thought of it made Ginny sick, and she startled up. Didn't they have some sense of decorum, making out in a public place where anybody might stumble upon them, quite like Ginny right now? Didn't they have a sense of decency? Or did Hermione completely lose her sense at all?

It was too much for Ginny to bear, so she stepped the last step forward to surprise them, to teach them a lesson that they couldn't do their dirty business wherever they wanted.

"Can't you get yourself a room for this?" Ginny said angrily, though what she saw wasn't exactly what she had expected to see.

Hermione was sitting on the couch; Greengrass on the other end, their heads both turned in surprise towards Ginny. Greengrass was holding and stroking something round, a fluffy bundle of pink in her hands. It was moving and breathing, and…it was Arnold! It was Ginny's Pigmy Puff! She recognised him at the small white ribbon that she had attached to the end of his long tail.

A sudden wave of mixed feelings jolted through Ginny, one stronger than the other, like a blow:

_Relief._

Knowing that Hermione and the blonde floozie had been talking sweetly to Arnold, and not to each other, Ginny sighed.

_Embarrassment. _

Ginny flushed once she realised her mistake, dropping her gaze to her feet.

_Anger. _

She registered Greengrass, looking strangely at her, saying, "Damnit, Weasley, you gave us a fright!"

Then, worst of all—

_Jealousy_.

She caught Hermione patting Greengrass' knee, before she said, "Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you." Hermione got up, taking Arnold carefully in her hands. "Astoria wanted to see what a Pigmy Puff looks like and I told her that you own one. I'm sorry, Ginny, I should've—I should've cleared it out with you first before taking him."

"Give him back to me!" Ginny, with her heart pounding so loud in her ears, demanded once she found her voice, striding forward.

The moment Hermione grazed Ginny's skin, a shiver jolted from her fingers, to her hands, to her arms, rushing through her body, making her feel light-headed, when Hermione carefully placed the Pigmy Puff in her outstretched palms. She swallowed. Hard.

_You're snogging another girl and you never told me! _Ginny hissed underneath her complaint about informing Hermione that she had no rights taking her belongings without asking for permission.

Why was her heart pounding so fast that she could not bear looking at Hermione directly? Was it because she'd been thinking about her too much lately, more than she'd admit? Did she feel guilty now?

"Sorry, was my fault," Greengrass said, coming to Hermione's defence. "I've been persistent, and Hermione actually said we should ask you first before taking…um…your pet."

"Arnold—his name is Arnold!" Ginny said petulantly. Greengrass blinked, a mixture of amusement and disbelief flitting her eyes. She looked at Hermione, who only gave an apologetic look.

Ginny, glaring at Astoria Greengrass—glaring at those vivid green eyes—scanned briefly that flawless face with those faint freckles patched upon her nose. Her curly blonde hair hugged her heart-shaped face, clipped at the right side of her head, whilst a few strands dangled in her eyes. Unlike Hermione, who wore comfortable sweaters and long jogging pants, Astoria was clad in her school uniform; her tie was loose, the upper button of her blouse open. And, even though she didn't know Greengrass well, she couldn't help but despise this girl with every fibre of her being.

Ginny looked down at herself. Her bathrobe was open, exposing her light-blue teddy bear pyjamas, and blushed with more embarrassment. She closed her bathrobe quickly with her free hand.

"It's all right," Hermione said, speaking to the blonde, placing a hand on her arm. Their eyes met, briefly, and there was this significant look again, which Ginny had seen during supper, that Hermione had passed to Harry—_to silence him_. "It won't happen again, Ginny," Hermione told her without turning her eyes from Greengrass, and said, "I think you better leave now. It's past midnight, and we still have class tomorrow."

"All right, then. And nice to meet you, Weasley," Greengrass, smirking, said in a condescending way, trying to be smug. Smug—because she got something now that Ginny once had and secretly always treasured, but Greengrass didn't know this, then. She merely relished the situation that Hermione had left Ginny—her dearest friend, closest friend—for _her_.

Then Greengrass did something, something which made Ginny's stomach twist painfully at the sight of it.

Astoria Greengrass, with a coy yet mischievous look on her face, took Hermione's wrist, turned it upward and kissed her palm. Just like the way Ginny did once when she had comforted Hermione in the library, that very fateful day when her heart got broken by Viktor Krum.

Ginny found herself near weeping now.

Greengrass was mumbling something to Hermione's ear, causing Hermione to blush further and smile. It was obvious that she did this to mock Ginny. Ginny lowered her gaze, pretending she wasn't dying inside. Arnold wriggled in her hands, as if to draw Ginny's attention.

"Hush, it's all right," she whispered to her Pygmy Puff as if talking to a baby.

She wished she hadn't said anything at all, though, for Greengrass sneered, and said, "Lovely."

Then she gathered her robe and scarf from the table, straightened her body as she walked past them. Ginny rolled her eyes; if Hermione hadn't been in the same room, she'd have jinxed the blonde trollop and show her _'lovely'_.

Watching Greengrass now as she made her way to the exit, climbing through the portrait hole rather ungracefully, Ginny returned her gaze to her squirming Pygmy Puff, just to ignore the intent gaze Hermione threw at her. She could feel a smile on Hermione's face even though she was not looking at her.

Once the portrait of the Fat Lady swung shut, the Fat Lady groaning her annoyance and resuming her snoring, Hermione sat back on the couch.

"Sorry again for taking Arnold and waking you," she said, then patted the space beside her, beckoning Ginny over. But Ginny didn't budge. How could Hermione smile at Ginny now, after their awkward conversation during supper earlier? Maybe it was the aftermath of Hermione's blissful encounter with her 'sweet cupcake'. Ginny grimaced and frowned at Hermione.

"Why are you making such a face?" Hermione asked, sniggering. She looked away, towards the hearth. "We haven't spoken for quite a while, have we?"

_Not by_ my _choice_, _anyway_, Ginny wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. "Didn't even notice," Ginny, frozen on her spot, said with a shrug.

She stroked Arnold, wishing that he was the wonderlamp she remembered Hermione mention when she told her about that particular Muggle Parisian story, which Hermione had enjoyed reading when she was a child. Where the holder of the lamp would have three wishes granted by a djinn…

Ginny didn't need all three wishes—she needed only one: Hermione; that everything would be back to normal.

Bringing her hand to her mouth, she felt Arnold slipping from her other hand and dropping with a soft thud on the table. He dashed away, jumping from the table, scurrying quickly underneath the sofa, hiding there.

An awkward silence stretched between them, then Ginny asked, "So, when did you hook up with her?"

Hermione, blushing, smiled a little. Ginny flinched inwardly.

But she was prepared for this situation.

_Don't let your guards down. Don't let her know how miserable you're feeling inside. Don't tell her how much you're missing her. _

_Why is it so hard to abstain from touching her, though—to hold her hand, hold her tight, caress her cheek—like I used to?_

_Smile. Take a deep breath, and smile._

_She's just one of the many friends that you've got. She's replaceable. You still have plenty of others._

_Show her how well you've been holding out without her. _

_She should not know that she's the one who stole the blush upon your cheek. _

"Ginny? Are you all right?"

"Huh, what?" Ginny mumbled. "Yeah, 'course I am."

"I said, why you asking that?" Hermione asked, folding her hands in her lap. "You know, about me and Astoria. Is it so hard to imagine that she and I are just friends, without being construed by others as Hogwarts' new lesbian couple?" She scoffed, laughing heartedly at the absurdity of the idea, but she wouldn't look back at Ginny.

Ginny, with a roll of her eyes, gave a sigh of frustration. "How can you be friends with her? How did you become friends, I mean? And so…close," she asked, staggering at the words. She swallowed, and shifted her weight on her other foot. "You don't even run in the same circles, Hermione; she used to bully you, remember? How in the name of Merlin did you find the time to grow this close and within such a short period of time?"

Hermione lifted a corner of her lips; a raw smile of sadness. "That never hindered _you_, did it? When you meet all those guys you barely know and snog them publicly, and…never mind," she said pointedly, "People change, you know. She's changed as well. I like her."

Ginny, gob-smacked, shook her head in disbelief. "You—like her."

Hermione looked grave, then turned her head, taking in a shuddering breath. "Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Is this part of your punishment, then," Ginny ventured, incredulously, "for all the dreary arguments we had?" Hermione said nothing. "Merlin, Hermione, don't make game of me. Why are you mad at me now, when before I thought we were going to be okay again? You owe me at least an explanation before you go on avoiding me like the plague."

Hermione just sat there, saying nothing; there was an air of impatience about her, a rather tiresome and impassive expression on her face, and coldness in her eyes. This look of indifference, which Ginny had grown used to, seen on her quite too often lately and thought it had somehow become the automatic response to Ginny's queries, made Ginny feel angry.

Ginny tried composing herself, breathing steadily through her nose, and counting to ten before she spoke again. She would not lash out like she always did.

Looking around the common room, which was filled with portraits, shields, and rusting blades, creatures in frames, Ginny tapped her thigh absently, counting the numbers down in her head. The only source of light was the fire in the hearth, enveloping the room in a dim light, and again she thought of the many times she had sat with Hermione at the exact same spot in front of the fireplace, chit-chatting, or mostly just enjoying each other's company.

This memory brought a smile to Ginny's lips, which caused Hermione to smile back a bit, though rather reluctantly.

"Hermione?" Ginny began again, reaching behind her to find the armrest of the sofa, and leaning against it. "Just tell me what to do. Isn't it a bit cruel if you keep treating me like this? You wanted some time away from me, two or three days, you said. I think I didn't piss you off for weeks now, did I?" Ginny smiled timidly. "Tell me, how did I manage to piss you off at last? We began talking again after the week of your request, and I assumed it was going to get better. Now all of a sudden you shut me out for good. Why? Don't you care for me anymore?"

All the while, while Ginny spoke, disburdening her heart, Hermione stayed silent. They stared at each other, Hermione's eyes void of emotions, until Ginny realised with a pang in her chest that Hermione was shaking her head.

"What?" Ginny whispered, forcing herself to believe that she didn't get Hermione right.

"No," Hermione said. Then she smiled, as if in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"No?" Ginny exclaimed, louder than intended. "Like 'No, I don't give a fuck anymore' or—or…"

"Exactly," Hermione replied, cutting her off.

"Don't fucking say you're sorry," Ginny seethed, "because you're not!"

Ginny's hands began to shake. Her temper ran wildly, making her head foggy. _You bitch!_ she thought, biting her lip to keep the words inside. Her eyes filled with angry tears; she blinked them away.

They had been friends since Ginny's brother had invited Hermione to the Burrow on their first Summer break. They had been inseparable like two pieces of rocks since Ginny's third year. They had almost shared anything and everything—from clothes, to bed, to books, to food, to time…every secret…their hopes and dreams. Like sisters. Like best friends.

Like _soulmates_.

Oh, and bloody three months of being treated like you don't exist wasn't a long time—three months out of the five years of friendship—because Hermione had wanted this, to be away from Ginny first. It was _easy_. Piece of cake!

But, damn! Missing her—that was the worst feeling ever.

Ginny had grown used to everything they had and shared before and now all that was suddenly over. Discarded, unwanted, cast off like their bond meant nothing at all; like _she_ meant nothing at all. You treat garbage like that.

Ginny wiped her hand over her face, then hugged herself. "All right, then, fine. Whatever," she said, shrugging.

There was a longer, rather excruciating silence this time, at last Hermione said, "Nothing's changed, Ginny. We can still act civil, can't we? It's not that we've broken up as a couple, right? It's not like I've broken your heart?" At that, she smiled wryly.

Ginny restrained the urge to smack Hermione across the face, to lunge at her and strangle her, so Ginny closed her eyes. It felt as though Hermione had decided to stomp over the broken pieces of Ginny's heart, to ensure they were shattered enough.

This was emotional torture.

_You don't have to be with someone to get stabbed in the heart_, Ginny thought_._

Sighing and shaking her head, Ginny finally summoned her strength—both mental and physical—to stand up. Not because she had a secret penchant for agony did she stay there, whilst enduring being toyed with her feelings by Hermione. She stayed there long enough to slacken the bond between them, slowly, painstakingly, so that getting over this wouldn't be so hard.

When she turned on her heel, Hermione called her back, "Ginny? Hold on. Just one more thing."

"Hmm?" Ginny hesitated.

"Do you actually remember all the boys you've been out with?" Hermione then asked, out of the blue.

"Huh, why?" Ginny, with her back to Hermione, made an attempt to wipe at her eyes.

"Do you remember the one you went out with a month ago?" Hermione pressed, the tone of her voice implying something. "Or do you recall anything of the night that day, when Gryffindor won against Hufflepuff? Remember? Anything of it?"

"Some of 'em I remember, yeah. Why?" Ginny asked in her best voice of telling politely 'Why is that any of your damn business?' She busied herself by retrieving Arnold from underneath the sofa. When she secured her Pygmy Puff in her robe pocket, she turned back to Hermione, and found her face ashen then. Hermione was glaring at the fireplace.

"You ought to ask him," she said quietly. "Ask him if _he_ knows anything."

Ginny was about to ask her what the heck she was talking about, but there was a commotion from the boys' dormitory staircase. Hermione's head snapped towards the person, Ginny, however, kept her eyes on Hermione.

She heard a familiar voice speaking, "Oh, sorry." It was Neville. "I heard voices down here and thought the first year girls are throwing a pyjama party again or something. You guys still up?"

Hermione gave a weary smile, then gestured half-heartedly towards Ginny. "We were just trying to resolve issues. Sorry, we didn't mean to be so loud."

"Oh, nah, S'all right, was just curious who was down here. I see, okay, then," Neville said uneasily. His voice sounded groggy; he stretched and yawned, and rubbed his tummy. "Didn't mean to intrude, though."

"It's fine. We were done anyway. Right, Ginny? Anyway, I'll see you guys in the morning. Good night," Hermione said as she made her way towards the girls' dormitories, then ascended the staircase.

Neville bade Hermione goodnight, hesitated when he looked back at Ginny.

He asked, "Ginny, you okay?"

She felt Arnold stir in her robe pocket, poking his nose out. She turned to look at Neville, who stared at her strangely, watching her with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Ginny wiped at her eyes, feigning weariness though in truth she was drying the tears in her eyes. She yawned when in truth she wanted to scream out her anger. When she looked up, she smiled. Widely. Forcefully. The kind of smile that was meant for Hermione. Then she turned and headed upstairs for the dormitories.

* * *

**A/N: You might have noticed that Ginny's holding back her anger. Keep this in mind. ;) Please leave a review. I'd like to know what you think of this chapter. :)**


	4. Chapter 3: Lie With Me

**A/N: Another update! Just updated Golden Rules, in case readers of this story are reading it. :) *coughs* This chapter is rather shorter than the rest, because formerly it was part of chapter 4, and since it got almost 8000 words, I split it. Anyway, enjoy reading! **

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter characters and the Potterverse. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: Lie With Me**

_I see her expressionless eyes everyday in my mind. I shake it off—I shake _you_ off._

_I still remember the sound of glass and wooden material shattering against the wall behind me when she threw a picture frame at me, missing the top of my head by mere inches. The very same picture frame that we bought together in London during the Summer break in which we have put the recent snapshot of us together. _

_I still remember her strained hisses through tightly clenched teeth, her fists balled on her sides, lips quavered as spiteful words leave them, aiming to hurt me. Those same, sweet lips she placed on mine during one of our midnight excursions to the castle's kitchens. My first kiss. It was the very first time when she took my breath away._

_I still remember the sharp, stinging pain of her palm when it came crashing against my cheek, her eyes filled with blistering rage, tears streaking down her face. The same hand with which she used to cup my face tenderly when I cried._

_The mere memory of everything we've shared before, of everything we've had before numbs my senses, leaves me feeling weak, and I can't move, I can't breathe._

_I'm still blaming her for all of this. She never failed to make things a lot more dreadful, even during my most terrible and traumatic moments, as if I'm doomed to forever think about her. _

_And so just to pay this back, my love, don't be surprised at all if I tend to respond favouribly if an attractive person looks at me with adoration instead of revulsion. _

_But, you know what? Despite it all, despite the pain you have caused me, I wonder if you have ever realised that I made you my world._

*.*.*.*

Hermione rolled on her back, arms stretched on her sides, legs sprawled, a wide contented smile on her face. Her cheeks were still rosy from excitement. Her chest, her belly, her whole torso seemed to expand with her panting.

"That…was…fantastic," she said, wiping her sweaty forehead dry. She was exhausted, thrilled, and still felt the adrenaline in her blood, the swooping sensation in her stomach, the lava in her veins. It was definitely better than the first time.

Astoria laughed beside her. "Merlin, you screamed like a monster, Granger."

"What did you expect? I thought we were going to crash against the wall," Hermione said, "and then I thought I lost control over the broom. Ugh. I hate losing control."

She looked again at Astoria, who lay still sniggering beside her, face flush. She was clad in simple green sweaters with black, horizontal stripes and white sleeves. Her wash-out jeans were torn, and she wore simple rubber shoes. While Hermione wore her casual outfit on a Saturday afternoon: A grey tunic and blue skinny jeans to her simple boots. Astoria, who had not been used to Muggleborns and their clothing style, had looked awkwardly at her when she had seen Hermione in her Muggle-like outfit the first time when they had spent time together outside of school.

"Losing control in general or over the broom?" Astoria asked, then she propped up on her elbows, staring into the distance. She was one of those people who could never sit or lay still. Drumming with her hands on the grass, she said, "Is Weasley still sulking over our last night's encounter and for taking her beloved—what's-its-name—Andy? She looks a bit gloomy to me. Look at _that_ frown!"

"No, I don't think so," Hermione said, following Astoria's eyes.

She saw Ginny sitting on a bench nearby the lake, a short distance from where Hermione and Astoria were laying. Her expression was blank and lips moving, whilst her arms were crossed. Luna, who sat beside her, head behind her _Quibbler_ magazine, threw then a stealthy look—maybe at Ginny's request—over her shoulder, towards Hermione. When she caught Hermione's eye, she waved cheerily. Ginny seemed to groan at Luna's indiscretion for staring so boldly and now waving.

Hermione smiled and waved back. She said, "Ginny's usually not that grouchy. If you get to know her, you'll see that she's very kind, feisty, and get along well with other people."

"I can imagine that," Astoria said with a roll of her eyes. "But if she's such a nice gal, then why did you split up? It's very obvious that she still loves you."

Hermione searched Astoria's eyes for signs of mockery, but found none. "Excuse me, what?" She laughed, then felt awkward once she realised that Astoria was serious.

"Thought you were going out," Astoria explained, "Everybody assumed it; we all called you the 'notorious pair of _pals_'." She threw her head back and laughed blithely, revealing a perfect set of white teeth.

Hermione's face grew hot, but she decided that it must be the aftermath of their exciting flying session. "Silly!" she huffed.

"Oh c'mon, Granger, you never noticed? All the blokes have been secretly fantasising about you together _between the sheets_." With her head resting on her arm, Astoria wiggled her eyebrows, then gave a sheepish smile. "Even Blaise. I caught him staring at you and Weasley-girl when we walked past you. You have been lovey-dovey and fondling in front of the Great Hall. Thought you were smooching." Astoria, closing her eyes, pushed her lips forward and made kissy sounds.

"That's so not true!" Hermione half-shrieked.

Admittedly, yes, she had been affectionate with Ginny, more than she had ever been with anyone else, but since she had never had a very close friend before aside Harry and Ron, nor did she have any other female friends to compare her friendship to Ginny with, Hermione thought that those affectionate gestures were natural. Ginny didn't have any fear of contact; they exchanged warm hugs and kisses on the cheek, she used to climb into Hermione's bed just to cuddle with her, or stroke Hermione's back in comfort.

Wasn't all that 'normal' between close girl friends?

"You know," Astoria said casually, "if you said you were going out, it wouldn't have come as much of a surprise, that's what I was saying."

"Oh," Hermione said after a moment, staring up to the clouds, "Well, no. Ginny and I were just friends and never dated; trust me."

How many times had she been repeating this to anyone who had asked her about them? And then, how many times had Ginny flared up in annoyance and exasperation at any of them, assuring the world that Hermione was _just_ a friend, who Ginny would never love _in that way?_ How many times had Ginny snogged boys in public, for everybody to see, that she was attracted to them and not to a "girl like Hermione"?

But behind people's back, during the nights, how many times had Ginny come crawling into Hermione's bed, without an ounce of shame, a word of sorry, or any sign of guilt. Soon enough Hermione began harbouring hurt feelings—feelings of rejection—and it became harder to tolerate and forgive Ginny's behaviour.

Was it completely necessary to be denied, rejected, and humiliated like that?

Astoria rolled on her back, her arms outstretched whilst plucking at the grass over her head, her gaze still turned towards Ginny. "D'you think she'd seen us flying together? 'Cos look how she frowns. What do people say, 'If looks could kill…'?" She gave a soft laughter. "Well, when you turn around, she looks away, obvioulsy. Ain't that lovely?"

Hermione squinted unnoticeably towards Ginny, who was, indeed, frowning at them; her red mane was whipping across her face, eyes strange and a bit sad. "If she's been sitting there since we got on the broom or heard my screams of terror when you sped up, well, then she probably did see us 'together'. For God's sake, now will you stop gawking at her?" she snapped.

She returned her gaze towards the sky, studied the white clouds, the yellowish Autumn leaves of the balding trees, the birds flying by. On days like this, Hermione reminisced, she went for for walks with Ginny along the Forbidden Forest or to Hogsmeade, where they would chat for hours and hold hands.

A short moment passed and Hermione closed her eyes. She felt Astoria shift beside her, then heard her say, in a delicate yet faltering voice, "We should meet this evening, y'know. Because I think it's time we start it soon."

Hermione opened her eyes and tilted her head. She let a moment pass for her eyes to adjust to the light, then her eyes wandered across Astoria's face, which seemed to be of a rather wan complexion under the sunlight, and inadvertently thought of the first time, exactly a month ago, when she had been approached by her with a request. A request, which would boot them both in their downhearted state. Had a month already passed since she had striked a bargain with Astoria Greengrass?

It had been a queer encounter with the young Slytherin that fateful night; since Hermione hardly knew Astoria, barely paid attention to her, and never even socially interacted with her. If Astoria ever spoke to her, then it was most often something nasty to backup Malfoy, usually just to mock her, or bully her when Malfoy and his gang was around.

When Hermione had met Astoria that night a month ago, however, the younger girl was weeping in her arms. She would never forget the look in Astoria's eyes, which had reflected the identical expression—of hurt and sadness—in Hermione's own eyes.

Hermione wasn't a vengeful person by nature, but this time, however, the desire for vengence and harming the misdemeanant—their target—with intent, was rather endearing. Whether their plan would work out or serve its purpose at the end, they couldn't tell by now. Fact was, with Hermione and Astoria's sham closeness, the people involved in their plan were thus far affected in one way or the other. And this was a good thing.

Biting her lower lip, Hermione gave a half-hearted smile. "I'm not sure, this evening you say?" she said reluctantly. "I don't know if I'm ready yet. We shall give it another week, maybe. Don't you think?"

Astoria shifted again, rested her head on her bent arm to face Hermione, only to show her with another roll of her green eyes, that she didn't like the idea. "Another week? Seriously, Granger! We've been dragging this on forever. We must do something soon."

"We have to test the water before we start anything so abruptly," Hermione argued, "or else any wrong action, movement, will spoil the credibility of our charade."

"What charade?" Astoria asked innocently, smirking. "I've grown quite used to spending time with you, Granger. You weren't as dull as I thought you were at the beginning. Test the water, eh? So we gonna practice first to see what it feels like, before you let me maul your mouth in an unobscure view of—"

Astoria stopped mid-sentence when she stared over Hermione's head towards the distance. She must have spotted something particularly there, for her eyes flickered up briefly, her face crumbling in some kind of anguish.

"Bleeding hell!" Astoria mumbled.

Hermione followed her gaze and saw Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass exiting the castle's porches, and descending hurriedly the porch steps. He held her hand in his, almost dragged her behind, as she giggled and squealed like a little schoolgirl. Daphne Greengrass' hair was a tad darker blonde than Astoria's, curling about her shoulders and was seemingly fuller; her complexion, however, was as pale and light. She was neatly dressed, wearing a long beige skirt and elegant robes. Aside the slight resemblance in features between the Greengrass sisters, you could tell that one sister was everything the other was not or plainly lacked.

Malfoy's mischievous smirk indicated that they were up to no good. They slowed their pace when Daphne sighted her little sister lying close together with Hermione under the oak tree, and frowned.

"Has anyone ever pinched your boyfriend, Granger?" Astoria asked, her eyes narrowed to little slits.

Daphne, infuriated once again upon the sight of Astoria and Hermione together, seemed to be absorbed in a sudden argument with Malfoy now, as if blaming him for Astoria's unspeakable behaviour. Her hands were flailing about as if in search for her wand, her eyes cold, looking daggers at Hermione. If there was one Slytherin who despised Muggle-borns and blood traitors more than Malfoy, than it was, with no doubt, Daphne Greengrass. Malfoy was trying to calm his raging girlfriend down and drag her away. _Not now, not here,_ his expression said.

"To be honest," Hermione said, still watching the quarreling couple across the Hogwarts' ground, "I've never been in an actual relationship before, thus, never had a boyfriend to get snatched from me." She ducked her head and felt it grow warm, because aside from Ginny, she had never divulged in anyone else about her lack of love life.

"How did you feel then," Astoria went on, disregarding Hermione's comment. Her eyes followed her sister and her boyfriend crossing the pathway, "whenever you see Weasley-girl snogging with a feller? Or seeing her in a chap's lap snogging his brains out while in the view of others? Did you ever feel…jealous?"

Hermione swallowed. If truth be told, back then she had never thought about how she felt when she saw Ginny locking lips with some boy in the corridors, or in the library, or in the common room, or on the Quidditch pitch. She would always look away and pretend it was not happening. But when she had seen Ginny that night four weeks ago with that boy she should not have been making out with at all, then heard Ginny denying and foreswearing her close friendship with Hermione in the most despicable way just to save face, of course Hermione was devastated.

"Yeah, guess so," Hermione admitted at last. "B-but not jealous in a way like…" she said defiantly, chuckling, then she realised that Astoria wasn't listening at all.

Astoria gave a sigh, a beseeching look was in her eyes, then turned away. She brushed her hair out of her face, her lips pulled down. She snorted, "My own sister stealing my boyfriend. Ain't that the meanest thing to do? She can steal my belongings, steal my friends, our parents' attention, or anything else. I don't care! What must you feel, though, when that which is more dear to you than anything, is taken from you?" She laughed, mirthless, whilst her voice shook. "Oh blimey, I'm so pathetic, ain't I? Am I so ugly that he left me for her?"

Hermione reached a hand for Astoria and pulled her closer, and the younger girl complied, snuggling into the crook of Hermione's neck. Hermione had never done this to anyone else before except to Ginny.

"Come, lie with me," she whispered in Astoria's ear. She took her small hand in hers and intertwined them, just like the many times she had done with Ginny when Ginny needed comfort. With her free hand she stroked Astoria's head, her shoulder, her back.

"They're staring at us," Astoria said against Hermione's neck, nuzzling the skin. Her sister's displeasure was Astoria's greatest pleasure, after all, Hermione surmised, smirking. Astoria would do anything to annoy the hell out of her older sister, which was also the very reason why she had formed a close bond with Hermione. She could not quite tell what upset Daphne Greengrass more—that Hermione was a friend of Harry Potter, or a Muggle-born, or a Gryffindor. Or a girl.

"She seems pissed, Granger," Astoria said, "Ain't you worried she might never talk to you again?"

"Huh, why?" Hermione replied, lifting her head slightly to see where Daphne stood. Her heart sank when she realised that Astoria didn't mean her sister—for the older Greengrass and Malfoy had both long disappeared.

Astoria was referring to Ginny.

Ginny's face was stricken and filled with all sorts of troubling emotions. She mouthed something to Luna, who threw a curious glance over her shoulder, then rose with Ginny from the bench. Ginny didn't give as much of a backward glance when she strode back to the castle.

*.*.*

Ginny was pacing in her dormitory room, lost in thoughts. When she wasn't slamming down each of her books on her bed, just so she had something to slam down, she picked them up again only to throw them in her trunk, she would kick at her trunk and shove it back under her bed. Her dormmates were watching her with a rather bizzare look as if Ginny had gone mad.

"Ginny, you all right? You've got a face like a wet weekend," her skinny, bespectacled dormmate, said, a quizzical look on her meagre face. She wore a bandana on her head, an apron with bleached-out flowers around her waist, and a white shirt with its sleeves pulled up to her elbows, and trousers that reached above her ankles. She stood in front of a table nearby the windows, polishing its surface with a dry cloth. She had already cleaned all windows, and dusted off their furniture, cleaned the floor, all without the use of magic.

"I'm fine, Keilyn."

"You sure?" she prodded, coughing when a cloud of dust fell over her.

"Why can't you, just for once, mind your own business? Leave me alone, for Merlin's sake!" Ginny snarled, a threatening fist towards Keilyn Blake, who flinched and ducked her head. Tears filled the skinny girl's huge eyes. She walked over to her four-poster bed and sat there, pretending to be busy with arranging her books and folding her school robe, her back turned to Ginny. A wave of guilt overcame Ginny, but instead of apologising for her impudent manner and harshness, she groaned loudly. "You got to learn to stand up to my shit, Keilyn," Ginny said softer this time, "or else you end up being browbeaten by the real badasses out there."

Keilyn waved a hand dismissively, sniffing, "It's nothing. Just got some dust in my eyes."

Turning around to resume her pacing, Ginny caught sight of the frame which held a picture of herself and Hermione, placed on her bedside table, and soon her anger returned. Ginny could rip people's heads off—especially the blonde trollop's, then Hermione's, yet she thought she must not feel like this and be affected. They had been friends for years and, over time, friends happen to drift apart. It was a natural process of growing up. Ginny had other friends aside Hermione, who would not abandon her, and declare they didn't care any longer.

Why was Ginny making a mountain out of a molehill, though? Throwing a wobbly about nothing? There were other people to replace Hermione with, who Ginny could grow close to as well. It wasn't hard finding new friends, after all. Look at Hermione, who had moved on so easily.

Yes, she did not need Hermione. The gaping hole in her heart did not mean that there was something missing in her life now. That she couldn't sleep at night wasn't because of Hermione. That she sometimes wept and cried at night till her pillow was soaked wasn't because she couldn't stop thinking that Hermione had left her for a 'real' girlfriend.

Hermione had just been a friend, and Ginny got plenty of other friends.

_But no one was quite like _her_._

Ginny kicked against her trunk, hard.

"For God's sake, _Ginevra_! What's gotten into you?" Her other dormmate, Hailey Jarvis, who sat cross-legged on her bed, demanded to know. She looked up from the book she was reading, blowing her mustard-coloured bangs hair out of her eyes. "Calm down, all right? There's no need to fly off the handle like that." She gave a loud groan of annoyance, and pursed her lips at Ginny. "It's because of Granger, isn't it? What, you got into a fight with her—again?"

Ginny stared back at her, flabbergasted.

"Oh c'mon, don't give me that look," Haley said knowingly, "Granger's the only person who can piss you off like that." She returned her attention to her book, without waiting for Ginny's response. She didn't care to know anyway. And Ginny wouldn't have told her.

Ginny, wound up as she was, slumped down on her four-poster bed, closing the curtains around her to shut out her dormmates. Laying on her back, she stared at the canopy of her bed, seeing images of Hermione and Greengrass by the lake, like flashes, breaking forth like a sudden flood of light above her head. She crossed her arms over her eyes to ban them out of sight. She felt like crying, and would most likely do. But then again, why?

"Just leave her alone, Hailey," Ginny heard Keilyn say in a small voice, defending Ginny.

Hailey scoffed. "She's making a racket over nothing," came an angry retort.

"Just give her a break. She's been going through a tough time if you haven't noticed," Keilyn replied from the nearby windows, presumably cleaning there.

There was a rustle of clothes and footsteps treading towards the door, then opening it. "I'll be downstairs in the kitchen," said Kailyn, "If you need anything—Oops, oh." There was a _thud_, as if she had collided against someone upon opening the door and leaving the room. "Hi," Keilyn said shyly. "Sorry, I didn't watch my step. You okay?"

"No worries, nothing happened."

Hermione! Ginny thought, recognising the voice.

"If you're looking for Ginny," Keilyn said, "she's inside. Come in if you want." Ginny imagined Keilyn gesturing Hermione in, gesturing towards Ginny's bed where the curtains were pulled shut.

"I see," Hermione said, hesitating.

_Blimey! Go away! Just go away! _Ginny prayed, her heart pounding fast.

"Is she asleep?" Hermione inquired. Ginny could feel Hermione's eyes at her, across the room, boring through the curtains of her bed.

"Uhm, no, but—" Keilyn said, her voice dropping to a low whisper, "you see, she's not in a good mood. You might want to try again later, though." A set of footsteps left the room, while another entered, closing the door.

Silence.

Ginny's heart throbbed fast against her ribcage; faster, even, when footsteps approached her bed. She really couldn't face Hermione right now. Not now, when she was on the verge of breaking down. Not now, when her tears pricked her eyes, and slowly flowing the sides of her face. Not now, when she was shaking all over that her breathing was heavy that it hurt.

_Damn, and how it hurts._

Did Hermione leave? What did she want, anyway? Ginny hoped she did, or else she would scratched Hermione's eyes out and feed them to Buckbeak for lunch. Or she would peel off her skin with acid and soak her in lemon juice. Yes, like that. Ginny smiled at her twisted, sadistic fantasy. Or she would pull her frizzy hair out, strand by strand, and rub her sculp with sandpaper. Or… or…

The curtains of her bed was pulled aside. A hand was placed on her arm to draw them away from her face.

"Ginny?" Hermione said.

_Fuck!_

_

* * *

_**A/N: Nah, what'cha think? Any idea what Hermione and Astoria's motive is to hurt Ginny? And who the guy is Ginny has made out with that has upset Hermione the most? I guess by now you've already figured out who's narrating this story, base from the prologue and the intro part of this chapter. ;)**

**Write down in the comment box if you know it. :)**


	5. Chapter 4: Shards

**A/N: This chapter is filled with some drama, angst, lots of troubling thoughts. I hope you're fine with that. Also, I had a hard time writing Luna's character. She's actually very intelligent and I'm not, but still I have to think like her. *brain cracks* Still, I'm not entirely sure whether I did it right. lol Let me know what you think. **

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Potterworld. I own nothing but the plotline.**

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**CHAPTER 4: Shards**

"Ginny?"

Ginny stared through her tear-stained eyelashes at Hermione. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, as she scowled, her bottom lip quavered.

Hermione's lips almost curled up to a kindhearted smile when Ginny hadn't said, her voice acid, "What d'you want?"

"Ginny…" she sighed.

Hermione threw a fleeting look over her shoulder; Ginny followed her gaze. In the room were just Hermione and Ginny, and Hailey, who sat with her legs crossed on her bed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she read in her book. She seemed like nothing in the world bothered her, as usual, just like on the many nights before when she had feigned sleep though she was aware that Ginny had been sneaking out of their room to creep to the sixth years' dormitory, to visit Hermione.

Ginny looked to Hermione. The velvet curtains fell over her back, but little daylight struggled through the gap where her body held the curtains ajar. Its beams were clotted with fibres and with swirling particles of dust, and through Ginny's blurred vision, she thought she was only dreaming. For she saw Hermione as she would see her in her dreams, coming to her quite like this, where a faint glow was around her. It felt so surreal. Her hand almost twitched towards Hermione, wanting to reach out for her, but then she thought better of it. She didn't want to make a fool of herself.

"We have to talk, and this is not going to be easy to explain," Hermione started in a low whisper, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. Brushing her hair behind her ear, she stared at the extra pillow beside Ginny's head, only to avoid looking at Ginny directly. She said after a moment, "Last night when we talked, I didn't mean that, you know. I still care for you. But you did and said mean things, Ginny, which really upset and hurt me. And all our fights," Here, she smiled sadly. "I can get over that, though. Maybe we could try being friends again."

Ginny stirred, and searched for Hermione's eyes. _Why is she doing this?_ she wondered.

"And there are these, erm…rumours about Astoria and me." She paused, took another deep breath. "You might have noticed that I've been spending lots of time with her and—"

"Merlin, I don't wanna hear anything about that; I don't freaking give a rat's ass about you and your girlfriend! It's making me sick!" Ginny seethed through clenched teeth, too stubborn and too angry to listen. "Spare me with your lame excuses. She's a more exciting sidekick, I got it!" she spat, trying to push Hermione off the bed. "Now go away," she hissed. "Just, _fuck off_!"

Hermione wouldn't budge. She sat there looking bewilderedly down at Ginny. Then she smiled as if in compassion, which irritated Ginny further because she misunderstood the smile and felt like being laughed at. God, she acted like a child. "I said, go away, Hermione!" she said pleadingly now.

Merlin! Every cell in her body ached to accept whatever Hermione had to say now. _Just listen to her_, part of her was yelling, _after all she came for you, didn't she?_

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said gently, removing Ginny's clutches from her shirt. "Do you want me to explain or not?"

Shaking Hermione's hands off, Ginny crossed her arms over her eyes and tried regaining her breathing, lying still, which Hermione eventually interpreted as a confirmation to go on with whatever she had to say. Ginny was struggling to keep new tears at bay; three months of pure emotional torture and pain was overcoming Ginny, making it almost hard to forgive her friend. Hermione was ready to make peace with her, resolve their issue, and come back to her. And here she finally was.

Ginny, as if by shutting Hermione out of sight would make her go away and disappear altogether, bit her bottom lip and sighed. It helped a little, though, if only there wasn't Hermione's heat pressed against Ginny's side. She shifted away.

"Don't be petulant, Ginny. Please, don't think that I—I've replaced you or something. You must not think that," Hermione said quickly, shifting on Ginny's bed. "But you have to understand, Ginny, that I was—when I saw you—"

Ginny groaned, turning her head away. She rolled on her side and covered her ears with her pillow, her eyes tightly shut. "Go to hell, and take her with you," she muttered.

"Will you just hear me out, _please_?" Hermione's voice grew slightly impatient, bossy.

"Has it never occurred to you," Ginny said angrily, "that I might not be popping into existence the moment when _you_ feel like talking?"

There was Hermione's hand on her shoulder. "Don't fucking touch me!" Ginny grumbled.

"All right, fine! Whether you're listening or not," Hermione said in a huff, "Astoria is teaching me to fly, for Quidditch. Just that. You see, I've asked her to teach me, and in return I've to do something for her, which is, I now realised, more difficult to accomplish than I thought it would be. But you must not think, when you see us together like earlier by the lake, that it means something—because it doesn't. And that—"

Her voice faded into a buzz in Ginny's ears as she went on explaining why her behaviour had been like that and how sorry she now felt. But Ginny wasn't listening. She didn't want to. She simply, deliberately decided not to understand. She would not forgive her this easily.

_Why not, though? Why not?_

_You wanted her back, _anotherpart of her argued._ Here she is._

Because…

…it was a matter of pride, too.

So what was Hermione saying? That the reason for all this pain was for the sake of returning favours to Astoria Greengrass that meant nothing? If Hermione felt safer by trusting a girl she barely knew—the little tartlet who used to mock and bully her on Malfoy's behalf—well, then it was perfectly logical to abandon her closest friend to fully focus on her new hobby—QUIDDITCH!—and ride brooms for fun. With all her friends of Quidditch players who could fly—she could have asked Harry; she could have asked Ron; and, oh, she could have asked Ginny—she had asked a girl who had absolutely no flying skills at all. Ginny struggled to believe that. Not only that, but she felt betrayed, too.

She had watched them fly high in the air. She had seen Hermione lean against Greengrass, face flush with excitement; she had heard her squeal when they accelerated with immense speed, heard her laugh when they slowed down. As if the height didn't bother her. As if all the years before when Ginny and Hermione had been idling on the Astronomy Tower and Hermione hardly ever looked down the railing in fear to fall, in _fear of height_, had been nothing but a vague, false memory.

"—that's why I need to be with her," Hermione finished her story, oblivious to Ginny's stray thoughts.

Ginny lifted her arms from her eyes, removing her pillow. "You done yet?" she asked coldly.

Hermione blinked. "I take it that it's all right with you?"

There came a cough from the neighbouring bed, and Ginny heard a rustle of clothes as Hailey shifted on her cushion. She closed her book shut, rose from her bed, and stole a curious look over to Ginny and Hermione. When she retrieved her slippers from under her bed, she threw a look at the opposing round room wall just nearby the door, where usually a chair stood, and smiled politely. Ginny drew her eyebrows in confusion.

Was someone else in the room?

When Ginny lifted her head to peek through the adjacent four-poster beds and their bedposts and curtains, she realised that there _was_ another one else in the room. Hailey, with her book tucked under her arm, left the room and closed the door behind her.

"Anyway, we better leave you now," Hermione said quickly, rising to her feet.

"'_We'?_ Who's here with you?" Ginny asked with her voice almost trembling, though a dropping sensation on the pit of her stomach told her that she already knew. She sat upright on her bed, felt her shoulders and jaw tightening. "You brought her here with you? What, too coward to face me alone?"

Hermione, hesitant and seeming reluctant to answer, turned her head away, as she caught the sight of their picture frame there, she almost smiled. Then turned her head to where the unwelcome guest stood waiting for her—she seemed wary all of a sudden, alarmed, as if she just realised what a stupid mistake she had made.

"Shall we go?" Another voice asked, and a heartbeat later Greengrass stepped into Ginny's view. Her head tilted slightly to the side, lips formed to a sneer as she looked from Hermione to Ginny. Despite her sloppy clothing style, she exuded an air of haughtiness around her.

Greengrass seemed to have deliberately chosen to hide from Ginny's sight, perhaps on Hermione's request. Perhaps Greengrass had insisted to come along with Hermione. But could she not have waited outside? In front of the common room, where Ginny didn't _have to_ see her?

"What is _she_ doing here?" Ginny asked, voice strained, eyes on Hermione. But Hermione only looked helplessly around, flabbergasted.

_Can't she ever do anything alone without her beloved companion? Do they always have to be together?_ shot it in her mind. And this—exactly this—made Ginny angry.

And then the dam broke.

"Get out! GET OUT! And YOU—" She turned with a finger pointed at Hermione, who flinched, and was taken aback. Ginny was surprised where her voice was coming from. "Get the fuck out of here!"

"Ginny, I thought—" Hermione faltered. Greengrass, just like the other night before, came to Hermione's rescue and moved to her side. As if this was what Greengrass had seen coming and the only reason why she had been there—to save Hermione's arse when needed. But mainly and almost certainly, to give her the moral support Hermione would need to talk to Ginny.

Ginny couldn't help but feel hurt at this.

"Let's go," Astoria said. Their hands touched.

"No, wait," Hermione said and turned towards Ginny. Her eyes filled with pity.

More pain.

"I said GET THE FUCK OUT, you—you—YOU _MUDBLOOD_!"

When Hermione wouldn't go, in her harboured, uncontrolled outburst of anger, Ginny grabbed the nearest object lying on her bedside table—the picture frame—and threw it at Hermione.

It happened so fast, Hermione had not seen it coming. No one did. Not even Ginny herself. It missed her head within a hair's breadth, and when it splattered into a thousand pieces against the wall behind her, only then did everyone realise what had just happened.

Hermione's face paled. Greengrass' eyes widened in shock. Ginny, herself, was stunned by her own action.

What had she done?

Greengrass was the first who broke the horrendous silence. She snarled at Ginny, "You fucking bitch! You could've hit us, you crazy, pathetic bitch!" She was about to lunge at Ginny when Hermione hadn't held her back, or blocked her from Ginny. Ginny wouldn't have been sorry if she had hit this little vulture, but when Greengrass spoke again, saying, "You could've hit her! You damn bitch!" Ginny felt a wave of guilt.

"No one's got hurt," Hermione assured her, her hands on Greengrass' shoulders, to keep her from throwing herself at Ginny's throat. "Okay? It's all right. C'mon, let's go."

"She aimed at _you_," Greengrass grunted, throwing a vicious glare at Ginny. "And called you that unforgivable name. What a friend she is!"

"I'm sorry," Ginny said quietly. Her breath was stuck in her lungs and she was gasping for air. _God knows how sorry she was. So sorry._

Standing up, Ginny said, "I—I don't know why—Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Hermione."

"You better be," Greengrass said snidely, leading Hermione away from her towards the door. At the door, however, Hermione halted to stare down at the broken pieces of glass, saw the snapshot of her and Ginny lying on the floor, and picked it up.

"Careful with the shards," Greengrass said, tossing a piece of the wooden frame aside with her foot. When she spoke to Hermione, her voice was soft, rather gentle. As if she really cared for Hermione, Ginny thought and almost wept.

Greengrass' eyes drifted over Hermione's shoulder towards where Ginny stood by the bed, and once she realised that Ginny was watching them, she placed a hand on Hermione's waist. Then she snaked her arm around her back, stroking with her hand Hermione's back in a comforting manner. It was meant to spite Ginny, but Ginny would not engage this time, instead she clenched her fists, and swallowed her anger. A wicked smirk appeared on Greengrass' lips, then she dipped her face in Hermione's hair. She was whispering, perhaps asking something, seeing how Hermione shook her head vehemently. Then Hermione dropped the picture wordlessly to the ground.

Both just left the room without another look at Ginny.

Knees weak and like a sleepwalker, Ginny paced towards the broken picture frame to pick up the picture. It was a Muggle snapshot, therefore, unmoving. When she held it in her hands, the tears that she had been holding back ran down her cheeks.

She saw their wide smiles and the pure happiness drawn on both their faces; Hermione's arm linked with Ginny's, her brown eyes sparkling. Ginny held her free hand towards the camera, first and second fingers raised and parted whilst the remaining were clenched, the two fingers forming a "V". On the corner of the picture was Hermione's neat and curly handwriting:

_Never let this go,_ it said.

*.*.*

Ginny hugged herself, her robe billowing behind her as the cold breeze whisked across her face. Her hair and clothes were drenched by the rain, but she did not bother to cast a water-repelling spell on herself. She didn't care about the coldness; it even eased the boiling rage inside of her. When she trembled, she trembled for another reason.

She saw them together.

How she wished it had just been another misunderstanding, like the other time in the common room.

The image wouldn't fade.

_She was pressed against the wall with her head thrown back in her neck, sighing delicately, smiling with her eyes closed. She was melting in the arms of her lover._

_Get out of my head!_ Ginny pressed her eyes shut, almost stumbling over a rock. She kicked angrily the rock away.

If only she hadn't been so sneaky and followed Hermione…

Ginny thought back of the incident that had happened in the girls' dormitory several days ago. With every heartbeat that passed, Ginny's hope sank that things would ever get back to normal. Not after _that_ incident, at least. Ginny couldn't even forgive herself for having hurt Hermione like that.

It was a curious thing to notice that, even though Greengrass had defended Hermione in front of Ginny, they had not been seen together after the incident, as though they had been fighting, too.

During mealtime, Hermione had seemed lethargic and rather impassive at the table, whilst poking with her fork at her food. Her skin looked pale, devoid of her natural blush, and her eye bags were dark, while Greengrass had skipped breakfast meals altogether.

Two days afterwards, however, when it had looked like Hermione and her girlfriend had 'gotten back together', Hermione was her vivid self again. Ginny had seen them again flying together outside the castle when she once looked outside the window from their common room. Hermione had grown more confident on the broom, and Greengrass didn't need to hold her tightly anymore.

Another day passed. Then another. Ron had asked Ginny what the matter with Hermione was and if it had got something to do with Hermione practicing for Quidditch. While Harry had taken Ginny aside and asked her whether they had fought about Hermione taking flying lessons from an impartial and unbiased person, who, in that case, was Astoria Greengrass. Ginny had looked confusedly at him. At last, he had told her everything, and soon she understood _why_ Hermione had kept Harry from telling Ginny about this issue. Because it concerned Ginny, too.

It was about some juvenile and silly bet.

But it was a big deal for Hermione.

Harry could not bear the thought of Ginny being so miserable and left out, and at last divulged _their_ secret to her. Ginny found out that a month ago the boys and Hermione had made a bet. They had been drinking, and when you're drunk, you come up with the most idiotic stuff simply because you don't care:

If Hermione learned Quidditch and managed to fly, that One) they all would stop teasing Ginny being romantically involved with Hermione, because it was clearly pissing Ginny off, and hence, they'd fight. Two) the winning team would win twenty-two Galleons, which had been collected by the members involved in the bet: Ron, Harry, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Hermione. Three) and Hermione would go out with Ron; he, in return, would finally ditch Lavender.

"And if she loses?" Ginny had asked Harry, dismissing the idea that Hermione was still pining for Ron.

"She would have to go out with you," Harry had said with a shrug. He blushed when he added, "It wouldn't've counted as a real date, though, seeing how close you already are, if you did not kiss her on the lips. I assume knowing this and how appalled you were by the thought of dating then kissing Hermione, she was working extra hard to practice. We promised her not to tell you, because she was certain to win, and keep you out of it."

Ginny had asked Harry when exactly they had made the bet, and Harry had told her that it was a month ago, when Gryffindor won against Hufflepuff, when they had been celebrating. Ginny remembered. It was the same night when Ginny had gone on a date with a bloke from Ravenclaw, who was two years her senior. But she could not recall his name because it didn't matter to her, then. However, she would recognise his face. According to Harry, Hermione had seemed rather dejected and wanted some distraction. They had been drinking, so Hermione had joined them.

"Regarding the flying lessons," Ginny had asked, "why did she have to ask the little Cookie of all people?"

"What cookie?" Harry blinked.

Then he explained to Ginny that it was up to Hermione as to how she would practice flying. Apparently, the same night she had run into Astoria Greengrass and, by some miracle, had bonded up with her.

Ginny was more than intrigued to know now what this _miracle_ actually was.

Something else must have happened that night, Ginny concluded, brushing wet hair out of her face. Because her instincts told her that Hermione's strange behaviour in the past few weeks went beyond mere worries of embarrassing herself for having to go out with Ginny. Hermione was hurting. Ginny could see it in her eyes. And thinking about it, she realised now that Hermione had only started talking with her again ever since she started 'dating' her new girlfriend, simply because she…goodness!...because she had moved on and was happy again.

The night sky was dark, and the mud was soaking up the hem of Ginny's trousers, making her stagger on the soil.

Was it possible that Hermione was angry because of that particular bloke Ginny had gone out with that night, perhaps someone Hermione had secretly a crush on? Impossible!

Moreover, Ginny had done worse things to upset Hermione. Sometimes she'd even tell Hermione the little details she was doing with a bloke, only to tease her, and see her reaction. That gave her a sense of pleasure—a different sort of pleasure—the pleasure she got from realising that Hermione might have feelings for her after all. Wishful thinking. Because to Ginny's dismay, Hermione had never acted jealous at all.

That was usually how their fights would start off, Ginny realised now, but hadn't she reassured Hermione afterwards that she had never gone that far with a bloke?

Ginny shivered. The atmosphere was disturbed by thunder and lightning, the wind was strong enough to cause Ginny difficulties to walk upright. The streets were dark. And it was past curfew. Ginny, having "borrowed" Harry's Marauder's Map, did not have much trouble leaving the castle without getting caught by Argus Filch, who, Ginny imagined, was now most likely wheezing through the castle in an attempt to catch some students to give them detention.

She had stuck the Marauder's Map back in her robe pocket once she was safely outside the castle, to avoid seeing the particular dot that was motionless on one spot, in the deserted dark hallway of the Gryffindor Tower—that this dot was in the company of another dot from Slytherin—supposedly doing her prefect duty. No, Ginny had no nerves looking at that dot. _That_ dot was the very reason why she had fled the castle in the first place.

Even though Hermione had never directly admitted having a romantic relationship with Greengrass when Ginny had asked her the first time, well, Hermione had not denied it either, now did she? And just because she did not admit the whole truth, would that be considered as a lie?

Definitely, yes!

This lie, this being lied to, this was what hurt the most. Because it broke trust.

And then she saw them _together_. It was undeniable this time—they were _together_. Ginny swallowed her tears and laughed bitterly.

As Ginny made her way to Hogsmeade, she passed the Three Broomstick, and turned in a murky alley, soon spotting the worn-out wooden sign with the wild boar's head and the white cloth around it. Despite of it being abandoned, it had always been her favourite place to visit when she wanted some moments of solitude. The last time she'd been here, it was with _her_. No wonder this place had some sort of magnetic attraction to her now—she felt as empty and abandoned as this place seemed.

Knowing that neither any students nor teacher were inside, Ginny stepped into the Hog's Head Inn, brushing the dripping water from her face and shoulders.

Aberforth, a tall and thin man with a white beard and long grey hair, the barman and owner of the Hog's Head, stood behind the counter, wiping its surface with a dirty piece of cloth. He looked at Ginny, clearly surprised upon the sight of a student at this late hour. On his forehead appeared several crinkles, his eyes narrowed down at Ginny. He lighted the lamps behind him with a prod of his wand, turning his back to Ginny. She thought he was going to ignore her and just send her back to the castle.

"Still up so late, young lady," he said in greeting, turning around as he wiped his hands on the same cloth with which he had wiped the counters. "Come in and have a seat. Must be freezing there." He gestured Ginny in and sloped out of the room. Seconds later he appeared with a mug of Butterbeer and two pieces of bread. "On the house," he said when Ginny was about to look in her pocket for Sickles.

Ginny slouched forward, taking a seat at the counter. "Sorry for imposing on you at this late hour, Aberforth. I—I just—I just needed some fresh air, that's all." Taking the hot Butterbeer in both hands, Ginny took a big gulp, placed it back on the counter without looking up again.

"It's all right," Aberforth said dismissively, pretending to be busy by scrubbing a spot from the table. He turned his back to Ginny again, dripping the cloth in a bucket filled with dirty water. "The weather's extremely annoying, don't you think? Are you quite well?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ginny lied. He must have sensed that Ginny didn't feel like talking, so he scurried to the other end of the counter and retrieved the Daily Prophet from underneath the counter shelf.

Ginny heard the door opening behind her only minutes later. Her blood froze, and she was worried now that she might have been followed by a teacher or a Head student, or a prefect, or worse: by Filch, and would now receive detention. But who cares? She took another sip of her Butterbeer, relishing the hot liquid as it ran down her throat.

"I told you she went inside the Hog's Head. See," came a familiar, airy voice, which made Ginny spin around. "Hi Ginny." It was Luna. And Luna wasn't alone.

"Merlin! Look at you, Ginny," Neville said in a troubled voice that almost reminded her of her brother Bill. Both took a seat on either side of Ginny. He bent down to catch her eyes, and then gave her a light pat on her shoulder. "You okay?"

Ginny shrugged his hand off. "I'm fine. What are you doing here?"

"We've been worried sick for you," Luna said, her eyes huge. "Oh look how drenched you are. You're going to catch a cold." She waved her wand over herself and removed a spell, that must have been a Water-repelling Spell, for both Neville and Luna were completely dry. "Didn't you use the _Impervius_ spell, or simply: used an umbrella? Apparently, Muggles use those to protect themselves from the rain. Daddy uses his as a wand in disguise. Comes in handy sometimes, you know, when it rains."

"Anyway," Neville said, looking from Luna back to Ginny, and handed her a dry handkerchief, "we saw you leaving the castle and followed you. Hope you didn't mind."

Even though Ginny had used the Marauder's Map, she had not noticed her friends on it for her attention was focused on someone else entirely. Despite her desire of some privacy, she was grateful for the company of her two loyal friends, who she had, in some way, neglected herself lately, because of Hermione.

Aberforth summoned two additional glasses for Neville and Luna. They drank in silence. Ginny could sense that her two friends were exchanging worried looks behind her back, but she felt too drained, too exhausted to care. Then Ginny remembered the favour she had asked Neville the other day, about a potion.

"Yeah, I got it, but hold on," Neville said, hesitating. He scratched his ear, his head turned to his glass, "But have you tried it again, though, you know, talking to Hermione? Because whatever it is you're planning with this potion, it's gonna be dangerous."

"I haven't. Guess, she shunned me out for good," Ginny mumbled, gnawing on her bottom lip. "And it's my fault." She turned the glass between her hands, sighing, "I wouldn't have pursued this plan, y'know, because she already told me what's actually going on between her and Greengrass. Guess I got hold of the wrong end of the stick; I didn't really listen. And I feel like such a fool, because I still care to know why."

"No need to feel like that, Ginny," Luna said sympathetically, her head tilted. "You were upset, mentally unable to accept her back even though you wanted to. It's normal if, now, you want to resolve things _your_ way."

Ginny gave a long-suffering sigh, she nodded.

Luna giggled. "Do you know what it also means?"

Looking at her friend expectantly, Ginny smiled. "What?"

"You're not willing to let her go."

Ginny felt foolish tears stinging her eyes, she laughed. "Oh Merlin!"

"Fine," Neville said in surrender, "All right. I gonna give you the Sleeping Draught." He searched in his pockets and pulled out a little flask filled with liquid. "Here. Wait." He pulled his hand back, fixing Ginny's eyes. "But you're not going to harm yourself with it, are you?"

Ginny swatted his arm, grimacing at him for even thinking that, and snatched the flask from his hand. "Don't be silly! I need this to knock the little princess out for a couple of hours," she said darkly, turning the flask in the light. The soporific liquid was clear, clearer than water. "This is a normal dose, though. Right?"

"Yeah, it's potent enough to make the drinker fall unconscious for several hours," Neville explained. "But an overdose would kill her."

_Good to know,_ Ginny thought, smirking to herself.

"I see," said Luna with a nod, "that's what I stood guarding the door of the Potions stock room for."

"Yeah." Neville rubbed his neck and blushed.

"Thanks, both of you," Ginny said genuinely, her heart jumping for joy. She was usually not this weepy, but her friends had risked getting caught just to steal the potion for her, had followed her to the Hog's Head despite the late hour for being worried for her, and now stayed with her to keep her company. True friends, indeed.

"You won't need all of it. Right?" Neville asked, as per usual torn by his good morals and now filled with guilt. "Just 1-2 drops shall be enough. And the rest we can return to the stockroom."

"No, I won't need all of it," Ginny reassured him.

Ginny wiped her nose. "By the way, Luna, do you know by any chance some of the seventh years in your House?"

"A few, yes," Luna said, cheerful, "some of them are very nice."

Ginny emptied her glass with a gulp. She peeked over at Aberforth who seemed to be immersed in the Daily Prophet. "Do you know any of the blokes, though?" she asked, playing with the flask in her hand. The thunder was loud outside, the rain splashed angrily against the roof as the wind blew through the cracks of the wall and ceiling.

"Yes, I do. Why?"

"Well, there is this bloke from Ravenclaw I've gone out with once," Ginny explained, rubbing her nose bridge, "tall, fair-haired, I can't remember. I think he's wearing an earring on his left ear."

"Fair-haired you say?" Luna said thoughtfully. "How fair?"

"It doesn't matter," Ginny grunted. "Maybe a tad darker than your hair, I dunno."

"There's only Patrick Fincher I can think of," Luna said after a moment. "I saw him with a girl earlier this evening. Oh, Ginny why?"

Neville shifted on his seat. "Has that bloke done anything to you?"

"No, nothing like that."

Then Ginny told her friends everything, feeling her sorrows alleviating from her heart, one by one. She told them about the friendship "cool-off", the permanent fights, the sudden cold-shoulder treatment. In the hopes it was finally getting better, how Hermione had rejected her from anew, as if freshly hurt. She told them about the bloke that Hermione had referred to that one night, and that Ginny should ask him, her tone implying something that had kept Ginny wakeful at nights.

"Why won't she just tell you, instead of this beating around the bush?" Neville asked, the same curious expression on his face as it had been then on Ginny's.

Ginny shrugged; her mind was swimming in incomprehension.

"Because she wants to see how much you really care," Luna said dreamily, smiling.

Both Ginny and Neville exchanged a confused look.

"You see, Ginny," Luna said, enlightening them with her theory, "sometimes, the solution to a problem is not by finding the easy answer, but the struggle you go through and the effort you put in to find it."

"Oh for Heaven's," Ginny grunted. _Is that what Hermione wants? _

"Girls, seriously," Neville chortled, shaking his head.

After a prolonged silence, Ginny put her palm on the counter, and was filled with fresh resolve.

"All right, this is what I gonna do. Plan A) I go to Patrick Fincher and talk to him." Then she clasped the flask of Sleeping Draught in her right hand, adding glumly, "And Plan B) If Fincher can't help me either, then this is when my Sleeping Draught would come into play. I need the Cookie's blonde hair, knock her out for a couple of hours, transform into her, and then talk to Hermione."

"Hmm…" Luna sighed. Neville shook his head in displeasure.

Ginny dropped her head. "Yeah, it's silly, I know. I just need time with Hermione," she said, mumbling. She put her fingers to her brow, feeling frustrated at Hermione, though more at herself, for letting Hermione affect her so much. "I want to know the whole truth, so maybe she's more open to her 'girlfriend'." She sighed and rested her chin on her wrist.

"Oh, bad idea. You really shouldn't." Luna took a sip of her drink, and looked concerned. She said, "You seem to be underestimating Hermione. She will see through you right away."

"Girlfriend, eh? So they're really an item now?" Neville asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. When he caught Ginny's look, he blushed, "Sorry, was just curious."

"And that's another problem," Luna sighed. "What if she wants to kiss you, Ginny?"

"Huh?"

"Given that Hermione takes the bait and believes you, if you were to assume Astoria's form," Luna clarified, "certainly, Hermione would expect exchanging affections in a romantic sense. There's perhaps kissing involved."

Neville coughed uncomfortably beside Ginny, looking away.

Ginny remembered how she had made clear to everybody who had doubted her friendship with Hermione to be more than just platonic that she did not like her, or any girls for that matter, 'in that way', since the mere thought was revolting to her. Moreover, her show in public with all the blokes had made it perfectly clear how _straight_ she was.

It saved her face. She lost her Hermione, though.

Now Hermione was kissing girls, in deserted hallways, after curfew. If Hermione were to kiss Ginny in Astoria Greengrass' form, would she kiss her back?

Ginny closed her eyes, imagining this scenario.

"Yes, why not," she said after a moment. No sham disgust this time. No pretences that she was appalled by the thought of kissing another girl…of kissing Hermione.

She smiled.

_I would kiss her…again. Like I did once before._

**_

* * *

_A/N: QUESTION: What did Astoria ask Hermione? :)  
**

**The next chapter is in Hermione's POV when they left the fifth years' dormitory. And about the change that happened between her and Astoria.**

**A special thank you to Red Chroma, for her wonderful review last time, *huggles*. And David Fishwick, inferno_54, and dolphindragon888 for reviewing (almost) all of my femslash stories and all chapters. lol :D And of course, each and everyone, too, who have reviewed so far! I don't expect praises, really. I don't mind constructive criticisms. So feel free to share your opinion. :) I don't bite. heehee  
**


	6. Chapter 5: In All Sincerity

**A/N: Finally an update, huh? (°_°') I promised a friend and my loyal reader/reviewer, inferno_54, to update on their birthday. Here it goes. Phew! **

**The reason why couldn't update sooner is because I had to revise this whole chapter to make it flow better with the story and also to establish Hermione's "relationship" with Astoria. Keep in mind that it's NOT a Hermione/Astoria story, though. :(  
**

**This chapter is the continuation of the last chapter's scene, when Ginny aimed that picture frame at Hermione but missed her head. _heeh._**

* * *

"I said GET THE FUCK OUT, you—you—YOU _MUDBLOOD_!"

When Hermione wouldn't go, in her harboured, uncontrolled outburst of anger, Ginny grabbed the nearest object lying on her bedside table—the picture frame—and threw it at Hermione.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5: In All Sincerity**

'_YOU MUDBLOOD!'_

Mudblood…

Hermione winced when she felt a hand on her back, snaking around her waist to pull her closer and warm breath against her ear, to comfort her.

"There, there, now. Hush, don't cry," came Astoria's unusual sweet, soothing voice, "Don't give her this satisfaction, all right?"

However sweet and caring Astoria's gesture might seem on the outside, Hermione dismissed it as the impish Slytherin's brilliance of acting when in the presence of an audience, hence, Hermione didn't much acknowledge it. Not even when Astoria nuzzled her ear, making the hairs on Hermione's neck stand up did Hermione turn her head to look at her. Weeks of hanging out together in spite of it being just a sham relationship, never once did Astoria anything remotely like comforting her in such a compassionate manner. It was obvious that she only meant to aggravate Ginny's temper further.

Standing with her back to Ginny whilst holding the photo of them together in her hand, Hermione felt the back of Astoria's fingers brushing against her tear-stained cheek to wipe them dry.

"Was she always this aggressive to you or did that before, y'know—" Astoria asked in a soft whisper, her lips moving against Hermione's ear, "—call you that indelicate name?"

Hermione, collecting herself, shook her head vehemently as her chest tightened and fist clenched. More tears welled in her eyes; she sensed Ginny's gaze burning on her back where Astoria held her hand against.

Dropping the photo on the ground, Hermione left the fifth years' dormitory with Astoria following suit. Just as it had been upon entering, several pair of Gryffindor eyes stared at them queerly, for it was quite unusual seeing a Slytherin wandering in the Gryffindor common room, even more so, in tow of Hermione Granger.

They had been seen, of course, on more than one occasion when Hermione and Astoria had left a broom closet together—where, cross heart, they did nothing!—but Astoria would play her role well and wipe her mouth and look slyly to give the impression as if having just snogged each other senseless. That was part of their 'Plan', of making their "relationship" credible, while Hermione secretly wished that the old gossips of her and Ginny would soon be forgotten and replaced by the more scandalous ones of her and Astoria.

Hermione didn't care much about what others thought about her. That was the problem with Ginny; she never stopped worrying about other people's opinion about her.

Once outside the common room, Hermione rounded on Astoria, her arms flailing helplessly around. "Why did you have to do that? Didn't you see how angry she already was?" Raising a hand to her face to rub miserably at her streaming eyes and nose, Hermione glared back at Astoria, who, with her jaw ajar, only gave her a flabbergasted look.

The Fat Lady in the portrait, who was well known for being testy, stirred beside them and hushed them to be quiet that there was no reason for yelling. She induced them to continue their quarrel elsewhere.

Astoria shot a fiery glance at the Fat Lady and dragged Hermione away, leading her across the moving staircase. They waited in silence beside the statue of Lachlan the Lanky, until the another staircase stopped in front of them, moving them to the next level. When the staircase moved upwards and halted in front of the next floor landing, they walked up the deserted, featureless corridor, where at the far end was the steep spiral staircase that led to the Astronomy Tower.

Coming to a halt, Astoria turned around. "All right, Granger. What did I do wrong this time? How did I manage to upset you even though I was only trying to be nice?" she asked in a patient voice that reminded Hermione of herself when she used to have those nonsense fights with Ginny. Astoria leant back against the stone wall behind her, her arms crossed. "Are you mad at me or just seriously trying to pick a fight with me?"

It wasn't just about picking a meaningless fight, Hermione thought, sobbing in her hands. It was just, sometimes, it's hard to convince herself that Astoria's kind gestures meant nothing and everything she did was all an act. Recently, she found herself not wanting Astoria to leave her whenever she was upset. Astoria would never fight back, though, unlike Ginny. A random, silly fight was the only form of affection Hermione knew, after all.

Did Astoria even care?

"I am _not_ _trying_ to pick a fight with you," Hermione snarled from the back of her throat, hitting the stonewall beside her with her palm, "I _do_ want to fight—_ouch!_" She yelped when she realised how hard she hit the wall. "Darn!" Tears stung her eyes and she looked down at her reddened palm and fingers.

Instantly, Astoria was in front of her, taking her hand in hers and examining it, causing Hermione to flinch. An amused smile spread on the younger girl's face though upon meeting Hermione's ominous look, she bit her lips to restrain a laugh.

Since Astoria was slightly taller than her, Hermione had to look up when the younger girl, standing very close in front of her, gently put Hermione's palm against her warm, pale cheek—a gesture she had never done before.

"Why don't you just hit me if you feel like hitting someone?" Astoria offered with an impish grin, chuckling lightly.

Hermione, feeling her head warm a little from the intense gaze, tried to pull her hand away but Astoria held it pressed against her cheek. "You see, Granger," she said, her head tilted, voice gentle and _almost_ seductive—because Hermione could see how hard Astoria was trying to keep her voice serious whilst looking straight into Hermione's eyes, "it isn't necessary to goad a fight in order to determine whether the other person cares or not. It's the little gestures that counts." Smiling slyly, she leaned in, nuzzling into Hermione's neck to demonstrate what she meant—maybe to hide her smirk as well—and then said in a breathy whisper, "I was being serious when I defended you back there, you know. Because I hate to see you cry."

"Oh, what the—? Come _on_," Hermione chortled, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. As she pushed Astoria back to see her face, she instantly knew she was right; Astoria had just been acting for this sly Slytherin suddenly burst out in a fit of giggle. She held her stomach when she laughed; her laughter was infectious and sounded so carefree. Hermione, despite herself, couldn't help but smile back. "I still hate you, you know," she said, trying to sound at least indignant and annoyed, but her smile betrayed her.

"I know," Astoria replied once her laughter subsided to a soft giggle. Poking Hermione's tummy playfully, she added quietly, "I hate you, too."

.*.*.*.

At dinner, Hermione sat with her shoulders slumped forward and feeling slightly light-headed, she couldn't stand listening to the random chatter around her. Poking at her meat with her fork, she threw a sideway glance at Harry and Ron and the other boys, who were all engrossed in a conversation about an upcoming Quidditch match against a rival house. Ginny sat opposite to her, reading in a magazine which lay on her lap under the table while devouring her meal with relish as if their recent fight—and the worst so far—had never happened.

Once dinner was over, Hermione rose sluggishly from her seat, grabbing her robe and pulling it over. She saw from the Slytherin table a familiar blonde girl waving at her and beckoning her over. She went reluctantly to the group of girls, frowning when Astoria grinned at her from ear to ear.

"What?" Hermione, standing a safe distance away behind Astoria's chair, asked warily, hugging herself.

"You leaving now?"

"Yes. Seems so." Shrugging, Hermione threw a furtive look over the table to catch another pair of piercing darker green eyes staring at her direction and recognising the older Greengrass. "I don't feel well. See you tomorrow," Hermione said to Astoria as she was about to leave.

"Where's my goodnight kiss?" Astoria asked in a sweet voice, batting her eyelashes when Hermione turned around again. The other girls, sitting left and right, giggled and looked a bit amused and confused as to whether Astoria was serious. Nearby boys coughed and looked up curiously, fidgeting on their seats and tilting their heads to see better.

In that moment, the thought that Astoria was only trying to tease her in front of all these Slytherins shot through Hermione's mind, that she suddenly felt hurt. Certainly, there had been rumours coursing around about them as being a new couple, of them making out secretly in broom closets, but no one had actually ever witnessed them kissing for real. Was Astoria trying to prove something to them?

"Huh? What's the matter?" Astoria asked.

"The prospect of sex for tonight doesn't look good, eh, Storie?" a familiar girl's voice commented, which Hermione realised was Pansy Parkinson's when she lifted her head to the opposite side of the table, where this dark-haired girl sat reading some Witch fashion magazine. Parkinson's pug-face immersed from behind the magazine, leering from Astoria to Hermione, "Your girlfriend looks a bit drained from all your scandalous sex escapades lately, eh, seeing that she can't even give you that simple favour." A crackle of girlish laughter emanated around her and disgusted-looking faces from nearby sitting girls. It felt as though everyone was staring at Hermione.

This caught Malfoy's attention; he was seated farther away from the girls and amongst his mates and his two cronies. Daphne Greengrass buried her face in her hands and shook her head in shame.

She would not let that get to her, Hermione thought, closing her eyes. Her head hurt a little, maybe she was coming down with a cold, for her body ached terribly since that morning. Re-opening her eyes, she only watched as Astoria leisurely filled up her glass with grape juice, but said nothing to defend her.

It was hopeless. Hermione, dropping her head to the ground, made a turn to leave, if only…

…if only she hadn't caught that certain, mischievous sparkle in Astoria's light green eyes in the next moment.

Astoria looked from Hermione to her friends and then at Parkinson, and Hermione expected another scathing remark, when suddenly Astoria grabbed her glass of grape juice and hurled its content across the table right into Parkinson's face.

The entire table fell silent.

This whole commotion and Parkinson's piercing loud shriek seemed to have caused everyone in the Great Hall to stare in their direction, whilst Pansy Parkinson gasped in shock and disgust.

Wiping at her face, Parkinson rose from her seat and rummaged in her robe pocket, seeming to be in search for what Hermione could only take to be her wand.

"You—little—" Parkinson growled, her face growing beet red in anger, matching the colour of the spilled grape juice on her white blouse. She was about to climb over the table to throw herself at Astoria, but her classmates held her back.

Astoria, grabbing Hermione's wrist, squealed like some delighted little girl caught in trouble as she fled with her the Great Hall.

.*.*.*.

"You're in trouble!"

"She'll get over it," Astoria answered dully from the sink. They were hiding in the abandoned bathroom on the third floor, since Parkinson hardly ever visited this place, and locked the door behind them. Combing her fingers through the strands of her long blonde hair, Astoria caught Hermione's eyes in the mirror. "You don't look well. Are you all right?"

"Yeah, don't worry," Hermione said as she slid down the side of the cubicle wall to slump on the cold floor.

"Really?"

"Yes…" Hermione groaned, rather irritated. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh." She felt her cheeks grow warm a little and blamed it on her rising fever. Her lips crumbled to a shy smile as she turned away, adding, "It—It's just, I didn't expect you'd do that, you know? I guess she'd get back at you for that later. You can't hide forever in this bathroom."

"Why not? I've always wanted to be roommates with Moaning Myrtle. I bet she's more bearable than my sister or Pansy." Astoria giggled half-heartedly, moving beside Hermione to sit on the floor. "As for you, Granger, you should head back to your dorm. You look horrible."

"Well, thank you," Hermione mumbled. "It was your fault, anyway, for exhausting me like—"

She froze mid-sentence when Astoria pressed her lips against Hermione's forehead, remaining like that for a few seconds before pulling back again.

Hermione could only give her a quizzical look.

"You have fever," she said, flicking Hermione's forehead lightly. "You shouldn't be running around and sit on cold floors. Let's go back!"

Hermione didn't resist when Astoria pulled her up and escorted her all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

.*.*.*.

Upon climbing through the portrait hole, Hermione was greeted by Ron. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Hermione.

Lavender sat beside him, stroking his arm. Ron got up, meeting Hermione halfway before she had the chance to escape to her dormitory.

"Oi, Hermione, hang on a second," he said, shoving his hands into his trousers' pockets as he threw a furtive look around the common room. "We'll have the match in three weeks, after the O.W.L.s. Think you're ready till then?"

Hermione closed her eyes when she remembered the match. "Yeah, will be fine with me."

Scratching the bridge of his nose, he added with a slight upturn of his lips, "By the way, what was that all about with the Slytherins?"

"Nothing, just a silly prank," she sighed, shrugging lazily. A cold breeze wheezed inside the common room when a few first year students entered, making Hermione shiver and frown at the younger students as if they were responsible for her poor condition.

"You should've seen Parkinson's face, all enraged 'n stuff. And everyone burst out laughing," Ron chuckled, reminiscing the moment.

"I know, Ronald, I was there," Hermione groaned under her breath, massaging her temples as she felt the throbbing growing more unbearable by the minute.

"Bet they were fighting over some bloke or something," Ron enthused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Hermione wanted to scream from frustration, instead she hissed through her breath to keep her voice down as she caught Lavender Brown's curious look from the fireplace, "Oh you think so?" she snapped. "The only reason, the only _logical_ reason two girls would fight about is because of some boy?"

"P'haps they were arguing over clothes 'n stuff and who's the most popular," Ron continued, seriously pondering about this absurd idea, "seeing how much the little priss blossomed recently, receiving all the males' attention."

"Ron!" Hermione half-shrieked. Merlin, of course a girl's look would never go unnoticed by Ronald Weasley. This made Hermione's blood boil and her temper rise further.

Ron flinched and looked at her in bewilderment, his ears red. "What'd I say?" he croaked.

Hermione could only shake her head as she excused herself, stalking quickly upstairs to the sixth years' dormitory, closing the door behind her.

As she was lying in her bed, arms crossed over her eyes, she sighed deeply. Her skin felt cold though she was sweating, so she covered herself up with her blanket. Rolling on her side, her eyes caught the picture frame of her and Ginny, and took in it both hands.

"What ever happened to us, Ginny?" she whispered, pressing her lips together. Placing it back on the nightstand, she turned her head and stared at the canopy of her bed.

In three weeks and the game was on. The bet would be officially over.

If only Hermione had not joined the boys' childish game then, if only she had not gotten drunk, and bounded their bet with a charm that would reveal whatever embarrassing secret they had on their minds if one were to back out or disclose the rules to a non-participant. Now it was irrevocable.

*.*.*

Two days had passed, thanks to the powerful cold draught she was given by Astoria, Hermione was well again. Since Astoria had advised her not to fly outside in the cold for Hermione just having recovered from fever, she had transformed the Room of Requirement into the Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch.

The oval field might be a few yards smaller in width and breadth, the grass greener, and the three goal posts—poles with hoops on them—shorter than the original, but still it was perfect. At the centre of the field lay a box, containing the Quaffle, Bludger, and the tiny Snitch. Beside the box lay two school brooms, two helmets, and gloves.

Hermione watched Astoria fastening her helmet on her head and pulling the gloves over her hands.

"You still want to teach me Quidditch?" she asked Astoria, uncertain.

Astoria, shrugging casually, replied with a groan, "No, I gonna teach you how to swim, Granger. Why you ask?" She grabbed her broom and pushed herself off the ground, flying several feet high as the time it took the heart to beat. She called back, "Don't worry, I fixed the brooms for better control, unlike last time, remember?" she laughed over her shoulder, "Now, hurry."

Hermione had still been feeling unwell a day ago and Astoria was even kind enough not to bother her, thus, they didn't see each other for a whole day. Hermione couldn't focus in class, for her vision was blurry and everything around her seemed to be drifting to the left. When Professor McGonagall had seen the pallor of her face, she had sent Hermione back to her dormitory, and advised her to take a rest.

However, instead of going back to her dormitory, Hermione had gone to the library, to finish her essay for Herbology. She had over-exhausted herself to the point that her temperature elevated and her fever returned. In the evening, when Hermione had lain in her bed, Parvati came in with a tray filled with a bowl of soup, the draught for the fever, in addition, water with ice chips, a cloth, and a plate with Hermione's favourite fruits.

"With best regards from your girlfriend," Parvati giggled, winking as she placed the tray on the nightstand, and left.

Where was Ginny this time? She had not even noticed that Hermione had been ill.

Pulling on her gloves and helmet in a kind of trance, Astoria suddenly appeared beside her, hovering in mid-air. "You coming or what?" she asked, slightly out of breath. "Don't be afraid, I'll be right behind you. We will not fly too high," she added, tilting her head in her neck to stare at the enchanted ceiling that showed the cloudless blue sky.

How Astoria managed to do all this was beyond Hermione. It was impressive due to the fact that Astoria was only a fourth year, thus, her magical ability was limited. Otherwise, Hermione concluded, Astoria must have a great mind and imagination for being able to re-create the exact Quidditch pitch inside this vast room.

Hermione was grateful and appreciated all the effort, but still, she couldn't rid herself off the troubling question as to what Astoria's true motive could be for being so nice to her. Nothing was part of their deal any longer.

"—and I'll show you how to pass the Quaffle in the air, and later on, how to score it," Astoria rambled on, oblivious to Hermione's wandering thoughts, "you ready?"

So their Quidditch practice began.

The first few trials were hard. Hermione had difficulties passing or catching the Quaffle altogether without losing her balance, though she slowly had grown used to it—its shape, size, and weight—in her hand, while the other hand clutched tightly the broom handle. Astoria had shown her how to do it right. With the skills like a talented Quidditch player though Astoria wasn't officially playing Quidditch, she taught Hermione how hard she must throw the Quaffle in order to score it through the hoops.

Throughout their training, Astoria had been surprisingly patient, whilst giving her instructions and ensuring that she would be right behind and wouldn't let Hermione fall. She never complained when Hermione was slow—slow as opposed to fast, that is—she never pressured her but rather encouraged Hermione to do it better next time. It was Hermione who grew frustrated when she didn't manage it at once.

They had practiced for an hour and a half until Astoria had called it a day, seeing how Hermione had been sweating and panting in exhaustion.

They met again the next day, practiced again for an hour. They also flew together outside again by the lake, to make Hermione grow more confident on the broom.

Never once had Astoria reminded her to finally advance with their 'Plan' for Hermione had failed to do her part altogether.

They did not meet during the day anymore. Astoria had let Hermione spend time with her schoolwork or with friends, or just let her have some time for herself. They only met in the evenings when they practiced Quidditch, and only if Hermione desired to. No longer were they acting for others. It was just them.

It was only several days after her big fight with Ginny, when Hermione had finally decided to advance with their 'Plan' and let Astoria kiss her.

*.*.*

Hermione gathered her books from the table and stuck her essay in her bag. She bade the librarian, Madam Pince, a good night, who, in return, only mumbled something incoherent under her breath when Hermione walked past her. Her gaze pierced the several books tucked under Hermione's arm, and reminded her to return them in time.

"As always, Madam Pince," Hermione said politely. She rolled her eyes once she left the shrivelled-faced librarian behind her.

She went through a secret tapestry, which revealed a staircase and ascended it, until she reached the seventh floor. There she ran into Harry, who was in the company of his ex-girlfriend—not Cho Chang, his first crush, but Ginny—looking rather cosy with each other.

Dropping Ginny's hand, his cheeks flushed, looking uncomfortably at Hermione. Harry didn't like public display of affection. Ginny, by contrast, would have probably been snogging him right then and there if he had allowed it.

"Oh," Hermione said, blinking in surprise.

Ginny turned away, looking down the hallway, while Harry's eyes darted between Hermione and Ginny. "Oh Hermione," Harry said in greeting, not taking notice of the coldness between the girls. "I didn't know you were using this secret passage, too. You just came from the library?"

"Yes, I was revising some papers," Hermione said casually. "Anyway, I'll see you later. These books are rather heavy, so—"

"Hold on, would you like to join us to the next Hogsmeade trip?" Harry called behind her, "There should be one again this month, I think it's this week or the next. Didn't check the blackboard yet."

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied, "I was planning to go with—"

"Great," Harry said, cutting her off, "you can bring Greengrass with you," he then suggested with a genuine smile. Ginny pinched him hard until he almost cried, then dragged him away.

"Oh Cripes," Hermione sighed under her breath.

Once Hermione had deposited her heavy books in her trunk, she took a hot bath in the prefect's bathroom. She got dressed up and made her hair neat and tidy, all along wondering who she was going to impress. Two hours later, after curfew, and since she wasn't on duty that night, she went to meet Astoria in front of the Room of Requirement a half hour later.

Astoria was sipping at a plastic cup, another was held in her other hand.

"Here," she offered, holding the cup out to Hermione, "it's delicious."

"What is it?" Hermione asked warily, taking the cup. She smelled at it, recognising her favourite drink, eggnog, flavoured with cinnamon and nutmeg. She hesitated before taking a sip.

"Oh, Gee," Astoria groaned, rolling her eyes, "would you stop looking like that? It's not drugged."

They finished drinking their eggnogs in silence, and then entered the Room of Requirement.

There was the pitch again, the brooms ready, and their Quidditch equipments were on the ground. There was the box containing the Quidditch balls. Astoria hopped happily to the brooms like a little girl on a playground, and glanced over her shoulder when Hermione hesitated.

Once again, she found herself pondering about why Astoria did all this for her. Had she grown so desperate about the progress of their original Plan that she'd do anything for Hermione now? Was she worried that Hermione might bail out on her in the last minute when it would be finally time for their 'Show'?

"What's wrong? You ready or not?" Astoria called out, her eyes gleaming, cheeks pink.

Hermione walked towards her. "Why? I mean, why all this? Why even bother?" she asked with a gesture around her. She felt foolish tears of gratitude stinging her eyes, so she blinked and turned away. She appreciated everything Astoria did for her—may it all be just an act—but it frustrated her that she couldn't figure out the younger girl's ulterior motive—_if_ she had one.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Looking up at the enchanted ceiling, she saw the blazing sun, again, the cloudless sky; even though it was late at night and storming outside, Astoria managed to make the sun shine for her.

"I thought you wanted to learn Quidditch?" Astoria said, confused. She let go of the broom handle and turned to face Hermione. "If you're feeling unwell, then I guess we don't need to practice today. I mean, you made a great improvement anyway, and we still have time till the actual game. When did you say was it? In three weeks?"

While Astoria rambled on about the techniques, and what Hermione should focus on to improve, Hermione had stepped closer to her, slowly, and put her fingers gently to Astoria's cheek as she cupped her face. She took another step forward until their faces were so close, their warm breaths mingled.

Astoria blinked, looking at her bizarrely, shortly before realisation dawned in on her what Hermione was finally ready for, so did her trademark mischievous smirk appear on her lips.

"What, you're ready for it now?" she asked smugly, licking her lips.

Hermione nodded.

Astoria leant forward and kissed her.

From that moment onwards whenever they sequestered themselves to the Room of Requirement, to a broom closet or a broom shed, or to the bathroom to kiss—to "practice" further—they did not pretend any longer as if they had made out.

They _actually_ did make out now.

And it was rather awkward at first—their girlish kisses: closed-mouthed, their noses bumping, their hands straying, unsure where to place them, unsure of the boundaries. And they would giggle and start over again. They kissed slowly, they kissed with shyness, they kissed with inexperienced touching, until they grew used to the other's lips, the shape, the sweet taste, the pace, the rhythm.

Astoria, with absolutely no sense of self-preservation, would always make the first move; her hand would now and again stray to Hermione's collarbone, slide down her chest, to her stomach, slip under the hem of her shirt, and move to her back, up her spine, play at her bra strap. And Hermione would then jerk, always break the kiss and pull away. Always would look back with disdain.

She wasn't ready for _that_. And it was certainly not part of their deal.

They met again after the next curfew hour.

Hermione leaned against the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, and Astoria had her arms wrapped around her neck, kissing her fiercely. As usual, one hand ran down her body, cupping her breast over her blouse. Hermione pulled away.

"What are you doing?" she shrieked half in puzzlement, half in shock. Her face felt warm, and her lips swollen from Astoria's bites.

"Was just checking something," came the natural response, her face a curious one.

"Check what?" said Hermione, irritated. "Yes, I have breasts, thank you for noticing."

Astoria laughed softly, her smile reaching her eyes. "Not that, silly. Never mind."

Giving her a roguish smile, Astoria pulled her back again to resume the kiss, disregarding the question. She pressed her body so close to Hermione that Hermione could feel the roundness and softness of Astoria's bosom against her own. It made Hermione nervous and uncomfortable.

Astoria touched her tongue to Hermione's lips, but Hermione wouldn't grant her entry, instead clenched her jaw and pressed her lips close.

"Oh c'mon, Granger, _please_?" Astoria pushed her bottom lip forward to a pout, her eyebrows sagging, emerald eyes round and innocent. "Will you just stop tensing up whenever I kiss you? You must look like you're enjoying it."

With her thumb on Hermione's chin, she urged her to part her lips a little. The idea of them kissing was all right, and Hermione had agreed to it after all. Backing away now just because she minded connecting their tongues, would probably be rude, especially after everything Astoria had done for her. It wasn't that she had never kissed a girl before and enjoyed it. So she decided to indulge Astoria and parted her lips a little.

When their tongues touched for the first time, very tentatively, Hermione suppressed a moan at the back of her throat, and hated herself for actually enjoying it.

"Much better," Astoria whispered huskily between the kisses, smiling to herself.

"You don't seem to have problems enjoying it _too_ much, though," remarked Hermione, raising a sceptical brow upward, looking amused.

"Just shut up," Astoria giggled against her lips, giving it a playful tug before she circled her tongue against Hermione's.

Hermione felt self-conscious all of a sudden, as if being watched. She sensed a stir, a movement from her peripheral view, at the far end of the corridor, and turned her eyes towards it.

There was a silhouette, the outline of a cloaked figure, with its hand put upon the wall, as if keeping itself from falling over. The nearby torch light flickered behind the person's back, making it hard for Hermione to recognise the face. It couldn't be Filch, though, because he would have most likely reprimanded Hermione and Astoria already, for being up late and outside their respective common rooms after past curfew.

In her attempt to pull away from Astoria, she tilted her head back against the wall, now however, Astoria began kissing her neck, up to her earlobe, then gnawed its flesh tenderly between her teeth. Hermione closed her eyes and shivered at the sensation that coursed through her body.

After a moment she opened her eyes at last to look back where the figure had been standing and watching them. But the figure was long gone.

* * *

**A/N: It took me like ages to write this, please take a few seconds to leave a few words like "Hey, way to go, girl!" or "Meeh, it sucks!" That would make me so happy. :D Thanks to all the people who have commented so far, or subscribed for updates, or added this story to their favorites. *woot***


	7. Chapter 6: Revenge Plan

**A/N: Hi guys. Thanks for waiting. Here's a new chapter. Even if it takes long to update, I will finish this story as long as I know that I still have readers. :)**

**This chapter takes off after Ginny discovered Hermione and Astoria making out in the hallways, she then went to the Hogs Head where she made that plan with Neville and Luna.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**CHAPTER 6: Revenge Plan**

Patrick Fincher.

Fair-haired. Brawny. Tall.

Good-looking.

The seventh-year Ravenclaw sat on the lower steps of the Hogwarts' porches, immersed in a Quidditch magazine, and took a big bite of his sandwich. A girl with a pink ribbon in her coal-black hair, wearing a Hufflepuff uniform and glasses, approached him and bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled at her sweetly, pulled at her scarf to kiss her again, kissing her on the lips this time.

Giggling and hitting him playfully, the girl then walked back to the castle. She called over her shoulder that she would be back after her classes to catch up with him, blowing him a kiss.

"That can't be him," Ginny sighed, frowning. "He looks too damn-good to be a player."

She leaned against the rock where she kept herself hidden with Luna. Luna stretched her neck awkwardly to have another look at the boy, then smiled at Ginny in confirmation that this hunk was, indeed, Patrick Fincher.

"I'm positive," Luna said airily, nodding, her silver-grey eyes huge, the corner of her lips curled to a smile, "that's him, Ginny. I was in the Forbidden Forest the other day, doing a research for Daddy's article regarding Thestrals, and Fincher was there, though I'm certain that he was with a different girl." When she stared back at Fincher, she added thoughtfully, "Later that evening he asked me what I was doing in the woods, and then asked me if I wanted to hang out with him some time."

"What the hell, he was hitting on you?" Ginny said, her jaw dropped.

Luna blinked in confusion. "You seem surprised, Ginny."

"Oh, no. No, what I mean," she stammered, "that idiot has a girlfriend but is a complete arse. Such a jerk. Anyway, you stay here while I talk to him."

Ginny walked slowly towards the boy. His head was bent when he flipped the pages of his magazine, then lilted it to the side when he turned the page sideways, his eyes glowing.

"Fincher?" Ginny said instead of hi. He flinched and quickly tucked his magazine aside.

"Yeah?"

Fincher turned his blue eyes to Ginny, his hair fell in his eyes. It didn't take a minute when recognition struck him; he smiled, then glanced quickly behind him as if in fear his girlfriend might catch him talking with another girl. He suddenly seemed nervous as his smile faltered and his forehead creased. There was something curious about his face, which must be his slightly crooked nose that seemed to have been broken once and fixed badly. He might have been engaged in some fist fight, which, judging from the faint colour of his bruise on the nose bridge, only happened about a few weeks ago.

"Oh, Wotcher?" he replied, swallowing the last bite of his sandwich.

"Can you spare me a minute?"

He looked again behind him, uncertain. "Sure," he said, shrugging.

Ginny stepped closer. "All right," she began, "there's something I needed to talk with you about."

He nodded. "Sure," he said again.

_Not very talkative this guy._ "I've been wondering if you remember, I think it must be over a month ago now, when we went out together?" Fincher flinched a little and grimaced at the memory; Ginny went on, "Do you remember, uhm our…_date_?"

"Date? W-Why?"

"Just tell me if you remember that night, if something unusual happened?"

"Well, I don't honestly remember." He brushed the back of his neck gingerly, glancing over his shoulder.

"I won't tell your girlfriend, so stop worrying," Ginny said snippily. Her eyes wandered to the castle's exterior, the vast double doors that stood open, and a few students entering and exiting. "There's just something I'd like to know. About what exactly happened that night."

"I don't understand," he said, irritated, "you don't…remember? What do you want to know exactly?"

"Everything. Did we—I dunno—do anything?"

Fincher put a hand to his chest for dramatic effect, as if mortally wounded. "Gin, are you always like that after dating blokes—you 'forget' them? Not that it actually matters now that you ditched me that night, because after that I hooked up with my girlfriend." He shrugged, looking uncomfortable on his spot.

"Can you tell me what happened after our date?" Ginny shifted on her foot. She stuck her fists in her robe pocket, feeling awkward by his stare. And stupid for having to repeat herself over and over.

He groaned in frustration. "Did you come to humiliate me? Seriously, I don't need this." Then he stood up, making a turn back towards the castle.

"No, wait," Ginny called. "Please, this is important. Just tell me what happened afterwards." She moved to his side, realising how he was towering above her. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings then, and I didn't come to humiliate you. I just wanted to clear things, you know, there are things that I can't seem to remember for some reason that happened that night. You must tell me."

He looked in Ginny's eyes, and maybe he saw something there. He shook his head and sighed in surrender. "Dunno, let me think. After we came back from Hogsmeade, because you said you have a terrible headache, I insisted to escort you to your common room. You said you didn't want to. Dunno, you said you were…hungry." He chuckled, reminiscing. "I asked you why you were hungry again even though we just ate. You said something like you didn't want to go back to your common room yet."

He lowered his voice and went on, "We made out a little, you know. And then you pushed me away and said that you've had enough. That I dunno how to kiss. After that I left you there."

"I really said that?" Ginny said, amused.

"Yeah." He shrugged again.

"What happened afterwards?"

"I was trying to kiss you again, I guess," he went on, not looking at her, blushing, "then you started to cry. I freaked out, okay, because that never happened before. Was tryin' to calm you, but you just fuckin' cried. You were calling someone else's name. If I remember correctly, it was Hermione or something." He laughed, shaking his head at the memory. "You really got some issues with that girl, huh? Everybody knows. I left you there, and then you hooked up with another bloke."

"What? And who?"

"That dude from Slytherin." He gave Ginny a peculiar look. "C'mon, you know him. He said he's gonna take care of you. It was that dude I got ditched for, Malfoy, that arse, and he broke my nose. I reckon you even forgot about _that_?"

_Malfoy?_ Staggering backwards, as though she had been struck by her own Bat-Bogey Hex in the guts, Ginny's eyes widened in shock; she shrieked, "Malfoy? Are you freakin' serious?"

Fincher chortled, smirking. "Yeah. I left you with you him. Figured I wasn't needed anymore. Now if you excuse me."

He went back to the castle without looking back at Ginny.

*.*.*

It was another mind-numbing subject: Transfiguration. And the worst was that they had a pop quiz. Astoria looked at her 'fill-in-the-blank' sheets of questions and realised with horror the length of her test paper. Knowing that she would need longer on the essay part, which had to be exactly nine inches of parchment about the "Contribution to the Study of Elemental Transfiguration" she had prioritised this, and now was transferring her notes from her scratch on her parchment. Why must McGonagall torture them so much?

Once she dashed off the last sentence of her essay, Astoria sighed in relief as she was now proceeding to the multiple-choice-questions. Her left hand hurt from writing.

With her right elbow on the table and head on her hand, she glanced at her classmates. Two or three of the Slytherins in the back row had a cheat-sheet under their tables, whilst keeping an eye on McGonagall who sat at her desk, taking down notes from an ancient book. It was quite unusual for the old witch. The Slytherins shared the class with the Hufflepuffs, but only two of them at the back were cheating by copying from their neighbour.

Astoria brushed the feather of her quill against her lips, feeling them tingling still as she remembered the softness of Granger's kiss, so unlike the kisses of all the boys she had kissed before. Yet Granger's kiss was nothing compared to Draco's; neither Granger nor any other bloke for that matter, could hold a candle to _him_—her first love, and unfortunately, first heartbreak.

It was her sister Daphne who had introduced them to each other the first time, when Astoria came to Hogwarts in her first year. Only three years later, after Daphne came to realise that her baby sister was upstaging her, got more hoots and hollers of the boys and the envious looks of the girls, and, hence, was stealing her fame, did she resolve upon _stealing_ the boy that was Astoria's first love.

Before that, however, everything was perfect.

Astoria remembered the day when Draco had asked her out. It was after their Spring break, when Astoria discovered with wonder how her breasts had grown, and, she, for the first time, went to lunch in the Great Hall and wore her tight blouse, and suddenly the world snapped to attention. The black vest that she wore above her white blouse, had grown short and tightly for she also grew at least two inches taller. It did not only shape her figure well, but it also accentuated the swell of her bosom perfectly.

Draco came to her then, as if seeing her for the first time, and smiled his arrogant smirk. She had only looked at him confusedly, and thought that he had been looking for her sister. But he had asked _her_ for a date—though he didn't call it that, a date—to Hogsmeade, and that he'd like to get to know her better.

They had gone out for a few weeks, but it was enough for Astoria to fall head over heels for Draco Malfoy. Until one day, she had found out that Draco and Daphne had been romping under the sheets behind her back. What was more devastating: that her boyfriend had cheated on her with her sister, or that her sister deliberately wanted to hurt her? It was the ultimate betrayal.

Trying to get them out of her mind, Astoria shook her head. She slouched down in her seat, rubbing her temples. Professor McGonagall, whose square glasses made her look sterner whilst the wrinkles at her eyes made her older, turned from the window. Her dressrobe was unsurprisingly tartan, billowing behind her as McGonagall stared towards the back of the class, directly at Astoria.

"Is there a problem with your test paper, Miss Greengrass?"

"No, ma'am," Astoria said quickly, bending her head over her parchment, pretending to write.

One advantage, Astoria thought distractedly, of being with Hermione Granger was that her passion for school was infectious. Sometimes, when they were not practising flying or, well, _kissing _and be affectionate with each other in public, then Granger would sit with Astoria in the library and help her revise the material Astoria had covered in class. She even learned how to impart her knowledge in the form of a structured framework. Granger was always patient when she held tutorials about the subjects for which Astoria had no natural aptitude or was simply weak at. For the first time, Astoria received praise; she received pats on the back, instead of hits on the back of her head.

It was entirely different from how Astoria had been taught at home by her strict mother and, for that matter, with dealing and handling reward and punishment. She still felt the strikes on her palms for each mistake she made on her exercises or the wrong answers she gave, as if by punishing her that way she would grasp the problem at hand easily. She would be grounded for each failing grade she brought home from school. She would be sent to a corner for an hour like when she was little—it was humiliating—only to memorise a text, and later recite it to her whole family.

Daphne got pretty dresses for her outstanding grades, while Astoria got chewed out. As if it was her fault for being _dumb_.

"Why can't you be like your sister?" her mother would say, slamming the book on the table, "You would do well by taking a leaf out of her book!"

_And be a total slut like _she_ is?_ Astoria thought spitefully.

Smiling to herself, Astoria thought back of the time when she had dyed her hair pitch-black and went to a joint supper with her maternal grandparents. Predictably, her mother had thrown a fit and lashed out then; for her mother was like a child who was unable to cope with the slightest of frustrations, and Astoria took a kind of comfort from making her mother's life a living nightmare. Her mother had grounded her until she would change her hair back to normal. Only a week later, Astoria got her nose pierced—it was a fake one—but enough to upset her mother. Again, she had been sent to her room after she got slapped across the face.

When she was even younger, Astoria got in trouble with all the neighbours' children. Every other day she set their clothes on fire, bullied them, or let their heads grow like a balloon. Her mother had found it most difficult to clear all the Muggle neighbour kids' memories and of having always to move away, punishing Astoria with silent treatment for months. It was all worth it, though. She would get kicked in the arse by her older, perfect sister.

She had only been frowned upon and punished by being sent to her room for her rebellious acts, and every failing grade, and, well, for calling her sister a bitch every now and then. Her father never did anything. He hardly played a role in Astoria's life. He never came to her, spoke to her, or listened to her. He didn't know how unhappy she was.

None of them ever asked why she did all those things. No one really cared.

No one of her family was aware that, deep inside, Astoria was falling to pieces.

*.*.*

Once the class was ended by the bell, Astoria quickly rushed outside as her friend Margaret asked her where she was heading to. Calling back that she would catch up with them later, she submitted her test paper and went to the bathroom on the third floor.

Now standing in front of the mirror, she sprinkled her face with cold water, then wiped her face dry with her handkerchief. How pale her skin was, she thought, brushing her fingers to her cheek. Her eyelashes were dark, long, and curled upwards, even without magical enhancement or mascara. Her lips were shaped to a Cupid's bow, a natural colour of cherry-red. People thought them lips voluptuous. Aside the faint, white scar on the left side of her forehead that served as a reminder of her fight between her and Daphne in their childhood and was now covered by a long, blonde strand, she did have a pretty, almost flawless face. Perhaps she found her faint freckles on her nose distracting, but many found them rather cute.

Still, she could not stop wondering what Draco found in her older sister that so clearly lacked in _her_. It must be that _one_ year age difference, that perhaps he could do more 'things' with Daphne than with her, who was, despite Astoria's very womanly build, still a child—a fourth year.

Or perhaps because Daphne was an outstanding student like Draco—they were the proverbial birds of a feather—while Astoria cared less about grades, school, or education in general. Her sister was gifted with a photographic memory, while Astoria had to study long and intensely to comprehend the subject and still only got Acceptable.

On the other hand, it was patently absurd to think that, though, for Draco was rather someone who cared little for the girl's sheer intellect and great looks, seeing that he had once dated Pansy Parkinson, who was as dumb as a box of rocks, and was unpleasant to the sight. Draco fancied girls that at least boost his ego, and run and do his bidding at a moments notice. And maybe, just maybe, because Astoria was not this type of girl, she was replaced by him in favour of another girl—her sister.

Was it really worth it, Astoria thought now, closing her eyes, to hurt herself over a boy, who had cheated on her with her sister?

Who was cheating on her sister with another girl?

Who's a fucking cheat. Period.

Though this kind of cheating only took place in his mind, for, physically, he was very faithful to Daphne.

Whilst he got it on with Daphne in the nights, he would think of other girls, and Daphne was more than willing to assume the form of the girl of his fancy—with the help of Polyjuice Potion: the charming Hufflepuff, Sally-Anne Perks; the good-looking Ravenclaw, Mandy Brocklehurst; and at last the fiery-head Gryffindor, Ginevra Weasley. And Daphne would act out her adopted role; she was everything Draco wanted her to be, everything he wanted her to turn into.

How Astoria knew all this? Of course Daphne would brag about things like that in front of her.

It was hurtful enough having found out about their sick and twisted relationship and their role-plays, but seeing them actually _do_ it together had been excruciating to endure. The last time Astoria ran into them was when Daphne had assumed Weasley-girl's form. Draco moved the harder against her, the louder she called out his name, whimpering and pulling him closer.

Just before Astoria could cast a harming spell upon the couple, out of nowhere, Granger was there. She had clasped her hand to Astoria's mouth, hushing her to be quiet. Dragging her away from the scene and to a nearby, empty classroom, she then released Astoria.

Maybe it was upon looking into Granger's sad and trusting eyes, that Astoria had ended up weeping on her shoulder and unleashing all her harboured pain, and anguish, and grief. Because only then, just in that moment, Astoria began to realise that Granger might understand her.

Was it wrong to take advantage of Granger? To make her think that it had really been Ginny Weasley who Draco made love with that fateful night?

_Made love_, Astoria thought spitefully.

That night nearly two months ago now, upon swallowing her pride, when she had asked the Muggle-born to assist her in her revenge plan, Astoria had afterwards run into the real Ginny Weasley. The little Gryffindor had been making out with some bloke, and Astoria had grasped this opportunity to place a Memory Modifying Charm upon them—_Obliviated_ them completely—so that Weasley wouldn't sabotage the whole plan at the end.

Though as the weeks passed, Astoria had grown comfortable with Granger, and that, for one thing, had ruined this part of her plan already. That tiny part that must be her own conscience, for whenever she looked at Granger—clueless, dupable Granger—Astoria couldn't help but feel guilty.

Granger liked to talk; but more often she liked to be silent, and think. Astoria would see her face change, then. Sometimes she would just sit beside Granger and feel the turning, turning of her thoughts. Perhaps she was thinking of her friend—Ginny Weasley—and how awful it must be for her seeing Granger and Astoria together. Astoria then would take Granger's hand in hers, and caress it, reassuring her that it was going to be over soon, and then reiterating her sincere gratitude for Granger's help and for just being there for her. And Granger—dupable Granger—would look at her and give her that very understanding smile.

_Gryffindors are easy to fool._

Anyway, most of the time, it was Granger who would sit listening to Astoria. Sometimes it was just for The Show; they would sit somewhere in public—sometimes in the Great Hall, by the lake, on one of the benches in the hallways—and she would listen in wide-eyed wonder, nod, smile, as if Astoria's opinion really mattered to her. Granger would laugh at Astoria's jokes even though they weren't that funny, and when she laughed, her eyes would go watery, and her smile would remain lingering on her lips.

_So sweet._

_Damn, why did it have to feel so real?_

One time, when Daphne and Draco walked past them in the hallway, causing Astoria to flinch upon their sight, Granger did something that Astoria had never expected of her, though for which she had been very grateful for afterwards. Granger pretended that she hadn't seen the couple, took Astoria's hand and kissed each fingertip tenderly. One by one, and smiled.

_That's how girls flirt._

_And stupid Granger is such a fucking-tastic actress…_

Daphne had almost cast an Unforgivable at her, if Draco hadn't pulled her back. But the sight upon Daphne's face was priceless.

Granger did many things that made Astoria, for some reason, _happy_; just by the simplest gesture at the perfect moment. Sometimes they would have those quick 'I'm thinking of you moments', when Granger would slip Astoria small notes in between classes—in front of Daphne, if possible—as if giving the assumption that she was passing love letters to her.

Sometimes Astoria would just lie beside Granger on the grass outside by the lake, lost in their personal thoughts, yet to others they would seem like the happiest sweethearts in the world.

Whenever Astoria felt like close to weeping, Granger would take her in her arms and chafe her back, or now that she had grown close to Astoria, she would kiss her cheek playfully and try to make her smile, until she felt better. She never pressured or pushed Astoria to bare her soul—things Astoria wasn't used to, because if it were her mother, she'd send her to a counsellor, for sure—only when Astoria felt like opening up did she share personal issues, like her sadness upon learning that her dearest grandmother had passed away three months ago.

She never rebuked Astoria for being foolish sometimes, or called her a moron or an idiot, for getting in trouble all the time, nothing from what Astoria was used to from her mother at home, who hit the back of her head and sent her to her room. Granger would actually _listen_ and show genuine compassion for her.

Thinking back, Granger could have just let Astoria mourn in that dark classroom back then, and let her heart mend all by itself. She could have just forsaken Astoria and forgo pursuing the frivolous revenge plan against her ex-boyfriend and sister. But Granger didn't. She stayed.

Astoria looked up and realised that she was still standing in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands pressed hard against the sink until her knuckles turned white. She was fooling and harming the only person that had been treating her so kindly, who listened to her, and gave her comfort, and made her happy, and trusted her blindly.

Why? Everything for a boy like Draco. Everything for a sister like Daphne.

Looking at her left hand, Astoria smiled again at a very recent memory that only happened two nights ago.

After their private Quidditch practice in the Room of Requirement, they had gone downstairs to the kitchens. Astoria had found some chocolate liquor and shared it with Granger just to celebrate the accomplishment of Granger's great improvement on Quidditch within such a short period of time.

They had been drinking in silence at first, sipping their glasses and staring into space, until Granger smiled dreamily.

Astoria stared at her, smirking. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she giggled, "I just remembered that I used to sneak with Ginny down here, once."

"Funny, indeed," Astoria snorted, rolling her eyes. "Lots of students sneak down here and steal food."

After a few more glasses of the mild liquor, Granger's head was red, and Astoria felt that her own head had grown warm; both having absolutely no tolerance for alcohol. They began then challenging each other to share something regretful of having done in their lives.

"All right," Astoria had mumbled, giggling, "here's another one: when I was thirteen, I snogged my best friend's boyfriend on a dare, and never told her. I felt so awful."

"You should because it is totally awful," Hermione said in disgust, but giggled nonetheless. "Here's another thing I so regret, and I could slap myself for."

"Was t'sit?"

"I kissed Ginny, once. Not just kissed, but _snogged_. Oh Blimey! There, I said it." She clasped her hands to her mouth and stifled another giggle.

"Bullocks. Really? But I thought you were just friends?"

"Yeah, we _were_ just friends," she said, "I was only playing when I gave her a small peck on the lips, like this—" she leaned over and demonstrated the kiss on Astoria, "—then guess what she did? She kissed me back! But not the chaste kinda kiss between friends, but the real thing. The kind of kiss we give each other, you know, you and me." Then Granger hid her face behind her hands, as if embarrassed, shaking her head to banish the memory.

"After that, things've been on shaky grounds. The hurtful part was that she kept denying it." She laughed bitterly, her eyes glassy. "I understand that she wanted to deny it in front of other people, but even when we were alone together, she pretended that it never happened. And then she kept kissing all those boys as if to say 'Hey, look at me, I'm not a dyke'. Oh God, I hated her so much for that."

"Can't believe you two snogged," Astoria said, grimacing at the thought. "I'm sorry she's treated you like that, Granger. If I really liked girls _that way_ and you were my _real_ girlfriend, I would've never done that to you. Ever." She patted the back of Granger's hand but withdrew it quickly, feeling embarrassed, too.

"Too bad, isn't it," Granger said softly, mimicking Astoria's grimace, then moving closer, "if only things weren't this complicated."

Astoria thought now of the kiss that had followed then...

Of the many times they had spent practicing the "perfect kiss" for their final Show, that kiss, she realised now, was perfect.

Granger was moaning against her mouth, and this sound had—who would've thunk it?—started up everything in Astoria, sending shivers down her spine, down her stomach, and further down.

When she kissed Granger's neck, she slipped her left hand under the hem of Granger's shirt, as usual, to cup a handful of her breast. She loved freaking her out that way, but it had been different that time.

It was the first time that Granger did not resist. On other times she would push Astoria away even before she had the chance to realise what was about to happen. Astoria's actions were predictable. She loved playing around. This time, however, Granger had let her touch her. She had pulled Astoria closer, kissing and sucking and biting her lips, eliciting moans from Astoria, too.

Until, of course, Granger had snapped back to her senses.

She had pushed Astoria away, and looked mortified, her cheeks blushing, brown eyes huge in shock. She had slapped Astoria across the face and then run out of the room.

They hadn't seen and spoken to each other since then.

How would she approach Granger now? Astoria had at least to tell her that the girl, who they had seen Draco romping against the wall in the corridors two months ago, wasn't her best friend, Ginny Weasley. And that Astoria had merely used Granger and ruined her friendship to Ginny, so that Astoria and Granger's sham-relationship would seem authentic enough in Draco's and Daphne's eyes. Didn't this add credibility to their show?

But Astoria could not let this go on. She needed to tell Granger the truth—because she deserved it. And if it meant losing Granger, and for her revenge plan to go to waste, so be it. Maybe it was now the time to move on, and forget Draco…and forgive her sister.

_Fuck them!_

Grabbing her schoolbag and shouldering it, Astoria nodded with new determination at her mirror reflection, and left the bathroom. With her head still bent, she turned left when she suddenly crashed against somebody.

A tall, lean boy stood in front of her, clad in the usual Gryffindor uniform, looking anxious as ever. He held his arms strangely towards Astoria, as if he were going to catch something that would fall right into his arms. Astoria frowned at him.

The next movements happened so fast, Astoria didn't understand at once. The boy nodded once as if giving someone behind her a sign and this eventually caused Astoria to turn behind her as well. A flash of red light shot directly at her, stiffening her whole body, hardening her muscles, and causing her to fall backward. She landed in the outstretched arms of the boy.

The next moment was complete darkness.

*.*.*

"Wait, you're going to kill her," Neville whispered, shoving Ginny's hand away. He placed Astoria's stiff body carefully on the floor, and looked in panic over his shoulder. Ginny was about to pour the entire Sleeping Drought in their victim's mouth, if Neville hadn't prevented it. "You gotta dilute the potion with water. Hurry, I think I heard someone coming."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Neville," Ginny giggled. She transfigured a piece of paper into a cup and went inside the girls' bathroom, filling the cup with water. Then she went back, adding two drops of the Sleeping Draught to the water, and let Astoria drink it.

"Why did we have to make her sleep?" Neville asked, removing the scarf that Ginny had used to cover Astoria's face once they noticed that her breathing evened.

"Because she's only stunned," Ginny said, placing a hand on the girl's throat to feel her pulse pump evenly under her fingertips. "which means she would still be conscious while she lies there. It's better if we let her sleep. Besides," she added, exchanging Astoria's scarf and robe with her own, "I don't want her to see us and rat us out to the headmaster, or worse, to Hermione."

"Oh bloody brilliant," Neville grunted, "she's seen _me_!"

"I don't think she recognised you, though," Ginny said. "Oh there's Luna."

Luna, who had guarded the corridor, walked to them and helped Neville carry Astoria to a nearby empty classroom. "Are you sure, Ginny, that she'll be fine?" she asked, looking as worried as Neville, "I read in _The Quibblers_ that a possible side-effect of the Sleeping Drought combined with shock could make her brain go fuzzy from hearing Hagglespurts in her sleep."

"She will be fine, Luna," Ginny cut in, groaning. She plucked a strand of hair from Astoria's head. "And in case she recognised Neville, you'll just modify her memory a bit."

Before leaving the classroom, Ginny asked her two friends to stay with Astoria in case she woke up earlier, and assured them that she would be back in at least an hour or two. She got the Marauder's Map from her robe pocket, tapped at it with her wand, and asked for Hermione's location. The map indicated that Hermione was heading to the West Tower.

Ginny put on the Slytherin robe quickly, and knowing how sloppily Greengrass dressed herself, unbuttoned the first two buttons of her white shirt, and removed her thin-striped red and gold house tie.

"I doubt this is gonna work, Ginny," Neville said, almost whimpering. "You could just talk to Hermione, instead of worsening the situation by _using_ her, eh, well, _girlfriend_," he objected, looking from Ginny to Luna, then blushed, "because if she finds out it's you, don't you think she'd be bitterly disappointed in you because you did this?" He waved a hand towards the unconscious, helpless girl on the floor, then to Ginny, who held in her hand the vial of Polyjuice Potion.

"Oh come on, we had this conversation already. I promise this'll work out just fine. Greengrass' asleep and if you want, just remove the spell from her so that she can lie comfortably," Ginny said condescendingly, glaring down at Neville. He was kneeling beside Astoria. Smoothing her robe and skirt, she added, speaking evenly, "I just want to know the truth, and now finding out that it might relate to Malfoy, it's unnerving. And why can't I remember anything? Can you tell me that? And Hermione won't fucking tell me!"

She removed the lid of the vial and added the last ingredient, Greengrass' blonde hair. Soon enough the potion bubbled, reacting to Greengrass' nature—her very 'essence'—which was, surprisingly, a rather attractive colour. It was a pale violet red and tasted like fresh, ripe apricots. But the muddy substance made her gag.

Ginny, doubling over in pain as the mud moved down her throat, felt her body changing afterwards. She noticed her red mane paling, turning blonde, growing flat and straight. Greengrass was slightly slimmer of stature, even an inch taller, her breast bigger, but everything else in their features remained approximately the same.

"Good luck, Ginny," Luna said with a half-smile. "Remember the things I told you about Astoria, to appear more natural."

Nodding, Ginny walked to the door quickly, catching Neville's accusing eyes that meant to appeal to her to see sense. But with a determined shake of her head, she tossed her now blonde hair over her shoulder, and headed to the West Tower.

* * *

**A/N: So, what'cha think? Are my readers still around? New readers out there? ('~') If yes, I hope you feel inclined to leave a response below. Many thanks to all. :D**

**The next chapter is about Ginny's confrontation with Hermione.**


	8. Chapter 7: Tell No One

**A/N: Thanks for coming back. Hope you'll enjoy this very emotional chapter. :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 7: Tell No One**

As the Marauder's Map had indicated, Ginny found Hermione on the West Tower. She stood in the middle of the circular stone room, fastening a letter to the leg of a light brown school owl that was sitting on her arm. Walking towards the glassless windows, Hermione sent the owl off with a toss of her arm. Perhaps she wrote a letter to her parents, perhaps it was a love letter to her darling girlfriend, to make it more romantic.

Ginny scoffed quietly. Merlin—what had her friend been thinking? Snogging a girl in the hallways in front of everybody, smooching in-between classes, hiding behind tapestries or disappearing in broom closets together. Just because she and Greengrass made out in dimly-lit corridors didn't mean they were invisible. What happened to the Hermione Granger, who would blush if somebody made a dirty joke? Who would rather prefer the solitude the library offered over an escapade with a fourth year Slytherin girl, and behaving in an ostentatious and very disreputable manner?

Looking closely at her now, there was something different about Hermione's tranquil image, as she stared vaguely into space, a longing in her eyes, whilst her hands clutched the railing as if afraid to fall over. She seemed as though she yearned to touch the sky, but was too afraid to reach out for them. Just like how Ginny felt inside: the self-inflicted torture of being so close to the person you want, but you're too afraid to have.

Heedless of present circumstances, Hermione reached up to brush her hair away from her face, and noticed Ginny standing by the door. Her eyes flickered with surprise, curiosity, and maybe disbelief, as if she hadn't expected to see someone there in the Owlery.

Rather than greeting her 'girlfriend' with a warm smile as Ginny had expected, Hermione turned away and scowled. She crossed her arms over her chest, blushed and shivered, but managed to conceal it beneath an act of feeling cold.

"Uh…hullo?" Ginny said, rubbing her nose. But Hermione merely fidgeted with her scarf and stared the other direction to avoid making conversation.

Ginny scratched her head, arching an eyebrow. Combing self-consciously her pale hair in front of her shoulders to reassure that she was still in Astoria Greengrass' form and looking down at her white silky hands, she released a sigh of relief. Then she coughed in her fist to get Hermione's attention.

However, the spell she'd cast to alter her voice made her throat feel dry and slightly itchy when she tried to speak, and her stomach gave an uncertain lurch when she realised that Hermione wouldn't even look at her. What's wrong with this girl? Was she ignoring everybody now?

Ginny had to come up with something to break the ice. _How was _she_ calling Hermione, though? Sweetheart? Honey?_ Ginny grimaced, _or just Hermione?_ She went for the latter, for Hermione didn't seem to be welcoming her warmly.

"Hermione," Ginny said, "so, what've you been up to?"

"Why?" huffed Hermione in response, as if to say _'Why do you even care?'_ She cast another subtle glance towards Ginny before turning away, hugging herself tighter.

There was no love in her brown eyes. There was no emotion at all. On the other hand, this was a kind of comfort, knowing that Hermione and the Blondie weren't always mauling each other's faces like Ron and Lavender; that they, too, bitch about whatever frivolous reason. Not that Ginny begrudged her friend some happiness with another girl, but still…

Shaking off her thoughts, Ginny asked good-naturedly. "Are you mad at me or something?"

"No, I just didn't expect to see you here."

"Well, here I am, I've been looking for you. We need to talk," Ginny said simply.

Noticing the flutter of wings and hoots of owls beside her, some nestling on the higher perches and sleeping, Ginny let out a long-suffering sigh. Some owls just returned from their mail delivery or hunt, resuming their position on the vacant perches. When she looked back, Hermione was scanning her with intense curiosity, her eyes on Ginny, as if she still couldn't believe that she was standing there.

Ginny, holding her breath, tried holding her friend's scrutinising gaze. What if Hermione had already sussed out that it wasn't Greengrass standing in front of her? She was known for being overly perceptive after all. Ginny was so screwed.

"What are you looking at? Is there something on my face?" Ginny asked, chuckling nervously as she formed her lips to a sneer. _Keep it cool, keep it easy,_ Ginny reminded herself. She was relying on the little information about Greengrass, with which Luna had provided her before heading off to see Hermione.

Hermione, frowning even more, shook her head dismissively. "Nothing," she muttered, staring back outside the window again. It was a cloudless afternoon, and despite the bit of sunshine, it was chilly.

Ginny, slowly growing agitated, stepped over the straw-covered floor, the owl droppings, and regurgitated skeletons of small rodents, to move closer to her friend. For if Ginny wanted to accomplish something within this hour before she transformed back, she couldn't afford wasting precious time in this aloof silence. Whether they, Hermione and the vacuously pretty little bint, were usually cold to each other in private, or whether they did have a fight, Ginny couldn't tell yet, but she didn't care either. She had to do something. _Anything_.

An owl flew through the window, landing on the perch beside Ginny. Ginny stretched her hand to stroke the head of the owl, then dropped her arm when she realised that maybe Greengrass might not be the type of girl who was tender to animals. Hermione was watching her again.

"Can you spare me a minute?" Ginny asked impatiently, brushing her hair from her face.

"Yes, sure." Hermione shrugged, still unable to look into Ginny's eyes. "But if it's about what happened the other night, I—I—" she stammered, playing at her scarf in some sort of embarrassment, "Let's just forget about it, okay, if it's alright with you?"

Ginny swallowed. _Damn, what happened the other night?_ "Oh, don't worry. If you don't want to, uh, to talk about that," she said, clenching her fists inside her pockets, "then we won't." _Damn you, Greengrass, if you touched her, I make sure you'll have your Eternal Sleep!_

"All right," Hermione said, scrunching up her nose, "let's go outside. Unless you don't mind the smell of owl droppings." She walked quickly past Ginny and went outside, stalked down the hallway, where she reached a bench, and sat down silently. With her hands folding in her lap, her eyes on the floor, she seemed as though she would rather wish to be somewhere else. Ginny sat beside her.

"Hermione," Ginny started, rubbing the back of her neck gingerly, "before I start, well, if I did or said something to upset you, I'm very sorry. I just don't want you to be mad at me." Ginny had been rehearsing this sentence even when she was her real self, now she was saying it _for _Greengrass; she was speaking _as_ Greengrass, and she had to talk _like_ Greengrass. And even now, she was clueless as to what she was apologising for, and why. As long as it made Hermione…less angry.

Hermione looked up, a frown on her face, then quickly looked away. Fumbling at her scarf to pull it higher, protecting her neck from the cold, she said, "I thought we weren't going to talk about it. But, I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to—" she trailed off.

"To what?"

Then Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she squinted her eyes on Ginny, nodding once, as if she had just found the final answer she had been seeking. Just like a short moment ago, in the Owlery, she was scanning Ginny now with intensity; she looked at her eyes, at her hair, at her lips, taking in her whole face. Ginny looked away.

_Damn, blimey. She knows it's me,_ Ginny thought, _she knows._

"Granger," Ginny tried this time, leaning back against the bench to relax her posture.

Flashes of the scene with Hermione and Greengrass snogging each other senseless in front of the Room of Requirement involuntarily filled her mind; they had seemed rather comfortable with each other. Now, she couldn't help but notice her friend's tense behaviour—always covering her chest, always turning away—Ginny put two and two together and suspected that Greengrass might have touched her _there,_ which had upset Hermione.

_Oh I will kill you, Greengrass!_

"I was such a pervert, wasn't I?" Ginny chuckled light-heartedly, speaking for Greengrass, "My pubescent hormones must've overwhelmed me that night, which resulted to improper actions when I, you know—" Then she looked back at her friend. "I didn't mean to upset you...like _that_," she said with a subtle nod towards Hermione's chest, wincing at the thought.

Hermione blushed but giggled. "Okay, that must be it," she laughed, "you only caught me off-guard, that's all. Now, what were you going to talk with me about?"

_She didn't deny it! She fucking did not deny it!_ Ginny ground her teeth together, _so Greengrass _did_ touch her. I'll kill her! I'll kill her slowly and painfully with my own hands and strangle her and…_

"I, uh, just wanted to see you," Ginny said impishly, grinning from ear to ear. She placed a hand on Hermione's, to pull her closer, to break the touch barrier. She imagined Greengrass doing advances like this, being bold, being flirtatious, being straight-forward. And it wasn't hard to do so, since Ginny and Hermione had been affectionate as friends before. It almost seemed like it was in another lifetime. "Just wanted to hang out with you, y'know, and chat."

"Oh really? Chat, huh? About what?" Hermione replied, seeming to play along. She moved closer, until their knees touched. There was still this doubtful look in her eyes, as if trying to see through Ginny's charade, to see Ginny behind Greengrass' bright electric-green eyes. "And I thought you didn't want to see me again."

Ginny winced inwardly. _What? If Greengrass did say that_, she thought, regretting everything about her plan, _then what in Merlin's sagging pants am I doing here, trying to make it up for this sloppy bitch with Hermione?_

"Did I—Did I really say that?" she asked, scratching her head. "But you're the very reason my pathetic life has a meaning. I need you." _Bullocks, what? Would Greengrass ever say that mush?_ But it worked. They looked at each other and suddenly burst out laughing.

When their laughter subsided, Ginny gnawed on her lower lip and sighed. Now she had somehow to bring herself—Ginny—into the conversation, for she really was running out of time. "Do you remember when we first met?" she started, placing her free arm around Hermione's shoulder, "I mean, not really met for the first time, but when we first started dating? A couple of weeks ago…maybe almost over a month now."

_That was probably a bit too obvious._

Hermione drew slightly away. "What about it?"

"I just keep thinking about it all the time," said Ginny quickly, pulling Hermione back to her in order not to meet her doubtful eyes. "I'll never forget the day when we first, uhm… kissed." She closed her eyes to ban the image from her mind. It was hurtful to remember that. Even more was it hurtful to imagine that they usually sat this close together, in the exact same position: Greengrass brushing Hermione's hair, touching her hand, kissing her lips. "Do you think about it sometimes, too?"

Hermione seemed reluctant to answer. Then, "Not really," she said rather indifferently.

Ginny drew her eyebrows together, not understanding. She waited for Hermione to proceed, but she didn't. "You. Don't? Because I love to reminisce about stuff like that, you know. It's like you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

_Okay,_ _don't be too mushy_, Ginny reminded herself_. You might give away your disguise. Astoria Greengrass is a "cool" kid—so stick to that. _

Hermione gave a short, mirthless chuckle. She tilted her head to face Ginny. "What is it you really want to know?" she asked, fixating her eyes on Ginny's. "You want to talk about Ginny? How we grew apart within the last few months and why I ended up with you?"

_Wow, she's good._

If Hermione would tell her now, it would be too easy. Ginny tried anyway, nodding slowly.

Hermione nodded, too. "If I tell you," she said, drawing away, "will you stop buggering me?"

"Whoa, sorry," Ginny mumbled, holding a hand up. "What's eaten _you_ that you keep jumping down my throat?"

_Merlin, she knows it's me. Or did she take the bait? _

"Stop acting like you care about me," Hermione snapped, suddenly furious, "what we're doing is not even real." She took a deep breath, then sighed in defeat. "I will tell you what Ginny did, but it's not what she did that night that has upset and hurt me; it's what she has been doing all along…before; she made me feel…rejected."

Holding her breath, Ginny was all ears now. She waved her hand in a gesture for Hermione to continue.

Hermione stood up, her back to Ginny. "We've been really close—Ginny and I—the whole world knew, but she kept on denying that fact, as if she was…I don't know, ashamed of me? When people teased her that I was her 'girlfriend', and all that shite and called her a dy—whatever, she said things like 'I'd never date a girl like Hermione' or 'Why would I ever date her?' I mean, seriously? Am I so ugly? Though, yes, that's not the point. But still…"

Ginny marvelled at how perfectly Hermione imitated her, and was shocked to realise that she had really said things like that.

Hermione laughed in a resentful manner, turning around to face Ginny. It was clear to see how hurt she was. "You know, her pretence-denial and pretence-rejection of everything I thought was real and true just to save her face, I could not tolerate that any longer. It's like the pain consumed me from inside and then I realised, if she did care about my feelings, then why would she hurt me like that?" She paused, allowing the words to sink in, allowing herself to even her breathing. When she spoke again, it almost seemed like she was talking directly to Ginny, and not to Greengrass. "Wouldn't that make _you_ feel rejected, too? Wouldn't that hurt _your _feelingsif I did that to you?"

Ginny's heart broke in a million pieces. Pressing her lips together to stop them from quavering, she realised now that she hadn't quite looked at it from that particular angle. Never would she have thought how much anger Hermione had harboured deep inside over the past. All the time, she thought she had been protecting Hermione from the rumours about them, to spare her from the mocking and teasing of other people. She thought if she denied their affections and their extraordinary closeness, if she could keep up the farce of not having any romantic feelings for her female best friend, then their friendship would be safe. That nothing would ever change.

She had been wrong: Everything had changed. Their friendship broke; they fell apart.

After a brief, awkward silence, Hermione said, staring on her shoes, "She didn't have to do that. I've been telling her to keep space, so that people would stop calling us that, you know, disparaging name; she wouldn't listen, though." Wiping at her teary eyes angrily, Hermione continued; her voice fierce, eyes on Ginny's, "_She_ was the one who'd crawl into my bed every night when she couldn't fall asleep. It was no wonder, then, that people mistook it as some 'amorous escapade'. _She_ was the one who'd hold my hand in front the others, and smothers it with kisses. No wonder that everybody thought we were a couple."

Hermione closed her eyes, her eyebrows furrowed, as if thinking about every memory with Ginny pierced her heart with tiny needles. "And _she_ was the one who kissed me, and I—I mean the real kiss, even though I didn't want it. You see—" She reopened her eyes, looking at Ginny, "—I never asked for any of that."

Ginny reached a hand forward and pulled her back on the bench. "I'm sorry," she said, then realising she was still Greengrass and, thus, had to play her role, she amended quickly, "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure that bitch didn't mean to hurt you."

Hermione withdrew her hand, then spit, "She _fucked_ Malfoy."

_What?_

Waiting for a reaction, Hermione sniffed, her lips crumbling to a sad smile. "That's the icing on the cake," she said then sarcastically, shaking her head. She narrowed her eyes down at Ginny's, as if expecting a certain reaction, surprise maybe, or outrage, or just disbelief.

Ginny felt her face grow pale, felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She fought with her emotions and stayed calm. Certainly, this kind of information wasn't new to Greengrass—Malfoy's ex-girlfriend—for, why else did she start dating Hermione all of a sudden if not for this very reason: revenge? Ginny understood now.

Lowering her eyes to the ground to hide the stricken expression on her face, Ginny inhaled deeply, and said to Hermione, "Have you talked to Gin—um, _Weasley_ about how you feel? Did you ever ask her if she really did that?"

_I never fucked Malfoy!_ she wanted to scream. _Never! NEVER, EVER!_

"No, I didn't," Hermione whispered, wiping her tears on her sleeve. She returned her eyes to Ginny's, as if actually speaking to _her_, "I have no claim on her anyway, have I? So she can do whatever she desires to with all those boys she snogged and even shagged in the past. I don't really care. But the fact that she lied to me—"

"Hermione," Ginny cut her off, taking her hand again. How could Hermione believe this, or make this accusation that she had slept with Malfoy? Had she seen them? It couldn't be. But why did Patrick Fincher, the bloke Ginny went out with, confirm that he had seen Ginny and Malfoy together the same night? And then again, why did Ginny have no memory of that awful incident? Did Malfoy _Obliviate_ her? _Damn! DAMN HIM!_ Or had Greengrass just told Hermione lies? "Hermione, please…"

What was she going to say, 'Please, believe me, I didn't do that! I would never—' Ginny's thought halted, '—I would never cheat on you,' she finished in her mind.

"Don't be mad anymore," she said instead, almost choking as she felt her throat tightening, "I'm sure it's only a big misunderstanding."

"Is it?" Hermione said scornfully, but then softened her expression a little, lifted one corner of her lips to a weak smile. She brushed Ginny's blonde hair aside, played distractedly at the collar of her shirt, ran a finger along her pale skin. She sniffed, swallowing her tears, her eyes still on Ginny. "Ginny would never do that to me, would she?" she asked, seeking reassurance. She spoke so lovingly, so tenderly, it was hard to determine whether she knew that it was actually Ginny or not.

Ginny shook her head. "No, she would never do that to you," she whispered, meaning it.

Hermione wetted her lips and gave her a kiss. Ginny was taken aback for a moment; she had not seen it coming though mentally she had been prepared for it. But instead of pulling away, she cupped Hermione's face with both hands, and kissed her back. Very shyly at first, until the kiss grew with passion, sending a tingle down to Ginny's stomach. It took her breath away at once.

She almost forgot how soft Hermione's lips felt, and how good she smelt, how very gentle she kissed. She almost forgot how Hermione had sent butterflies to her stomach by kissing her just like _this_, once, four months ago.

The kiss _did_ happen then; it wasn't just a dream.

She felt Hermione smile against her lips, then pulling away; she looked at her. She brushed her thumb over Ginny's lips, brushed her blonde hair away from her face.

"I know it's you, Ginny," she said knowingly. "I knew it right away."

*.*.*

_They met in front of the painting of a bowl of fruits, where the castle's kitchens were hidden. Hermione tickled the pear, it giggled, revealing the door handle. She flashed a reprimanding look at Ginny for being late, and ushered her quickly through the door._

"_If we get caught, you know I'm going to blame you for this," Hermione hissed when she held the door open for Ginny. "Be quiet, though. I don't want to wake up the house elves."_

"_Oh relax a bit, will you," Ginny said in a low voice, rolling her eyes. "I've been doing this since my second year, and I never got caught." _

_They walked to the high-ceilinged room, where the fireplace was located at one end, and the four preparation tables of each House at the centre. All of them were cleaned up neatly. _

_Ginny walked towards one of the magical cupboards, which served as a device used to reduce the spoilage of foodstuffs by cooling its contents, and opened it. "Look at all this delicious food, you gonna love them." Ginny rubbed her hands together, taking two plates from the lower shelves, and forks from the drawer._

"_You glutton, you're like your brother sometimes; no restraints whatsoever when it comes to food." Hermione giggled, stepping behind Ginny. "Oh, star fruits. I didn't know they have these tropical fruits here. How come they never serve them?"_

"_Star fruits?" Ginny asked. She noticed the fruit bowl holding different kinds of fruit in front of her, and picked up the golden yellow five-pointed star-shaped fruit in her hand, which felt like wax. She smelled at it; it emitted a fragrant sweet aroma. "What do they taste like?" _

_Ginny opened another cupboard and found a butter cake on a platter, iced with buttercream and decorated with strawberries on top. She took a strawberry and shoved it in her mouth, while watching Hermione slice the star fruit crosswise in thin slices, then take a bite._

"_Don't you shell them?" Ginny asked._

"_Hmm, no, the skin is edible. Try it," Hermione said, offering Ginny a slice. _

_It was juicy, tasted mild sour and a bit sweet too. Ginny didn't know whether she liked it or not._

"_A bit sour," she said, grimacing._

_Hermione laughed joyously, then suddenly leaned forward to give Ginny a kiss on the lips. "Is it sweeter now?" she asked, smiling, her face still hovering inches away from Ginny's. She blushed when she realised what she had done, and pulled away._

_Ginny licked her lips, tasted Hermione's lip gloss. Hermione tasted like some candy that Ginny was denied, but finally able to have. She felt her face grow warm when she realised that Hermione had only been teasing her. _

_There was an awkward silence between them, until Hermione spoke again, "I didn't mean to…" she muttered, tucking a frizzy curl behind her ear. She took the two plates from Ginny's hand, and rummaged in the cupboards, now distracting herself by looking for some food too._

"_Hermione," Ginny said, taking the plates from Hermione's hand and placing them on the counter, "look at me."_

_Hermione turned slowly to her, smiling in embarrassment. _

_In an instant, Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione's neck, and pressed her lips to hers. She didn't know what had possessed her to do that, but she had lost control over her mind, and she wanted so badly to feel Hermione's lips again. When at first Hermione seemed to resist, Ginny pulled their faces closer, applying more pressure. _

_After a moment's hesitation, Hermione put her hands on Ginny's waist—perhaps torn between pushing her away and drawing her closer, Ginny couldn't tell. When Ginny, with a plea in her eyes, drew back slightly, gave Hermione an encouraging look, and kissed her again, only then did Hermione, very slowly, return the kiss._

_They kissed for what seemed like eternity, though it was only a few seconds. Ginny smiled contently, cupping Hermione's face with both hands. _

_Then they pulled away to catch their breath. Ginny leaned her forehead against Hermione's, her eyes sad. She looked almost anxiously, then she whispered, _

"_Hermione, you won't tell a soul, will you?"_

*.*.*

"What?"

"Come on, Ginny," Hermione drawled, rolling her eyes at her, "I know it's you!"

"What are you talking about?" Ginny huffed, gobsmacked. She tried to keep up her charade. _I'm screwed, and she'll never forgive me, ever. _"Granger, you're being absurd," she said, feigning indignation. "Are you always thinking of Weasley while kissing me?"

"Oh Ginny, shut up!" Hermione retorted; now growing impatient. "I know it's you because, for starters: Astoria never talks about 'us' and 'how happy she is with me' and all that bullocks about 'how we first started dating' because she doesn't really care. Secondly, Astoria would never make excuses for you."

"But, wait, I—"

"And besides," Hermione continued as if Ginny hadn't spoken at all, "what I've noticed about you is," she glared down at Ginny, "something you do unconsciously, when you brush your hair aside, when you scratch your nose, you prefer to use your right hand over your left hand. But Astoria is left-handed, hence..."

"What the…?"

Hermione shook her head, raised a hand to silence Ginny. "And lastly," she said, "you went to the Owlery."

"So?" Ginny was confused. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at Hermione. Maybe she was just trying to trick her.

"So?" Hermione repeated mockingly, "Astoria suffers from ornithophobia."

"Huh, what?"

"Ornithophobia is the irrational fear of birds," said Hermione, looking smug. "She doesn't go near the Owlery at all. Her tardiness in the morning is due to the morning owl post delivery. She'd even panic when she sees owls in cages. She's been trying to hide or suppress her fear in front of me, but due to our near-accident the other day while practicing flying and an owl flew by; she panicked. Which didn't give her another choice than to disclose this very personal information to me," Hermione rambled on, "and you, Ginny Weasley, for Christ's sake, you were _stroking_ that owl earlier!"

_Oh fuck! I knew I shouldn't have done that, _Ginny felt like slapping herself. "Oh, well. I—I've overcome my fear," she said lamely, trying it further, though she knew that her chances Hermione would buy it was zero.

"Astoria has been fighting with this fear since her childhood," Hermione explained, "since one of her sister's older friends conjured up a flock of birds at her. You can't 'overcome' it just like that."

Ginny grunted, conceding defeat. "All right. I got it." She stared at her fingernails to avoid Hermione's piercing gaze.

"I was certain the moment I saw you there," Hermione said, "that it couldn't be Astoria, but I could not, however, be certain enough, who you could be. I mean, even her sister has been trying to spy on us, or 'break us up' or jinx me whenever she sees me with her baby sister together. She's clueless in regards to Astoria's phobia though, hence, I considered the thought that you might be her—Daphne." Hermione brushed with her fingers the bridge of her nose, then folded her hands in her lap. She leaned back against the bench. "But then you were far too affectionate to be Daphne Greengrass. She might've probably imitated Astoria better, anyway. And you, Ginny, you were rather comfortable with me, so my instinct precluded me from thinking that it was Daphne or any of her friends," Hermione pointed out with far too much logic, making it hard for Ginny to follow.

All she heard was, _Astoria here_, and _Astoria there_.

This was the hardest thing exactly, hearing the person you care so much for, talking about the person you wished you were. Hermione knew her 'girlfriend' too well.

"If you knew it was me," Ginny spoke slowly, "then why did you pretend that you didn't? And how come that you finally decided to divulge your greatest 'secret', which is, the reason you won't talk to me for months. I have been apologising to you, but you just fucking ignored me!"

Her hands were flailing about; she didn't know where to put them, so she grabbed Hermione to make her look at her. "Why didn't you just talk to me? Instead, you gave me the cold shoulder, Hermione, then suddenly before I knew you started dating girls!"

"_Girls_?" Hermione screeched, "It's one girl, Ginny, and I'm not dating her!" She paused, then, "I mean, it's nothing serious."

"What do you mean, 'nothing serious'?" Ginny asked, flabbergasted, "Like…like a fling or something? An exclusive non-serious relationship? A relationship with no strings attached? Which one, Hermione?"

For once, Hermione looked puzzled. "No! Astoria and I are not actually…_together_," she said simply. "I explained it to you before! Didn't you listen?"

"So you mean to say, you're not snogging each other, you're not flirting with each other, or visiting each other's common room in the middle of the night? You've been together for quite over a month, maybe even longer, you've been spending your free time together, and—" Ginny rolled her eyes towards the ceiling to keep her tears at bay. She was frustrated and felt like screaming.

Hermione sighed audibly. "That, we do, yes," she said. "Look, I don't owe you any explanation, nor do I have to justify myself because what I do is none of your business. You _snogged _half the boys in our school, Ginny, and you _slept_ with Malfoy! I endured all that and never judged you. All I needed was some space, because…I'm sick of our fights, I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of _you_!"

"You never judged me?" Ginny echoed, her jaw ajar in disbelief. "You turned your back on me, for fucking Merlin's sake because you thought I was fucking Malfoy; it means you thought I was a slut! No, you know what? _I_ am tired of _you_, you and your sick lezzie relationship with that bitch!" She rose to her feet, glaring down at Hermione, she yelled, "And screw _you_! I never slept with Malfoy—believe it or not! Why do _you_ care, anyway? You're just making up excused to be mad at me!"

Hermione rose as well, matching her. "Oh right," she wheezed, "I used Malfoy as an excuse to put an end to our already miserable friendship! And it worked well, didn't it? He solved all my problems! Don't be ridiculous!"

_Miserable friendship?_

"I'm not being ridiculous! I just wanted to understand," Ginny said helplessly, "Has it never occurred to you that the girl you saw sleeping with Malfoy might not have been me, but someone else pretending to be me? Look at me," she said through clenched teeth, fisting a bunch of her blonde hair, "do I look like myself to you? Don't I look very much like your darling girlfriend? This is what we refer to as 'magic', Hermione. It does exist, and some people, even myself, abuse it."

The only way to win an argument was to render the other speechless, and for the first time, Ginny won.

Hermione fell silent, opened and closed her mouth. Perhaps she was slowly realising that Ginny was right, that Ginny got a point there. She shook her head, still trying to comprehend.

"You figured out quickly that I wasn't _her_," Ginny pointed out, "but when you saw _that_ girl you thought was me with Malfoy, you believed it instantly without even asking me? You know facts about Greengrass such as her 'phobia' and 'handedness', yet you didn't know that I, your best friend for years, would never steep so low and fuck that prat?"

..._and cheat on you,_ she wanted to say but bit her tongue. For the second time now. Were they really having this argument? Like actual lovers having a quarrel? Was this all about cheating and broken trust?

Ginny was hurt, beyond that, she was angry—angry with Hermione; angry with the blonde bitch who nicked Hermione from her; angry with herself. Tears formed in her eyes, running thinly down her cheeks; they gathered at her throat and wet her collar.

Maybe Hermione did, after all, just concoct an excuse to be mad at her, to end their 'miserable' friendship for good. Whether her relationship with the bint was real or not, Ginny didn't care a fig now.

Hermione just stood there, her eyebrows twitched, as always when she was analysing things, forming the words in her mind before she spoke them aloud.

"If all the public snogging only served as a purpose to get Harry's attention," Hermione started, readying her strike, "then why have you broken it off with him when you two were finally going out?"

Was this really what it was all about—about Harry? About _Harry's_ hurt feelings? Was Hermione projecting, that, by defending Harry, she was actually defending herself?

As Hermione went on, her voice rose, causing Ginny to flinch. "You know what? I think the reason why you kept on having your affairs is to maintain your reputation of being a flighty slut, better than being called a lesbian, isn't it, _Gin_? This must be the reason why they're pining for you: not because you're pretty, it's because you're _easy_!"

It was all the anger that was inside Ginny that came gushing out like lava from a volcano.

Ginny's hand suddenly sliced through the air, came down hard across Hermione's cheek. Hermione, staggering back, grabbed the side of her face. She was taken aback, so was Ginny, when she withdrew her hand, slowly, to clasp her mouth.

Hermione, touching her face, looked at Ginny with horror.

"You don't fucking know me!" Ginny uttered in contempt. The words broke in two, stuck in her throat.

With a spiteful look in her eyes and a heavy heart, Ginny turned on her heel and walked back down the hallway.

* * *

**A/N: hmm... "The Slap", this was the moment Hermione had mentioned in chapter 3, if you remember. But don't worry, no matter how many times they "break up", they always get back together. :)**

**Check out "Fire In The Belly", a spin-off of this fic, where Astoria actually falls in love with Hermione. The story takes place some time after Hermione and Ginny have made up and the whole revenge plan against Daphne and Draco is over. **

**Please leave a comment below. Your comments inspire me to write more. Thanks for reading.**


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